


A Station South of Canon

by ChipAndDealer



Series: Tied to the Tracks [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU Melting Pot, Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe, Draco Malfoy is almost a squib, Friendship, Gen, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Hermione is a deaf legilimens, Hogwarts First Year, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Ron is childhood friends with Luna, Slytherins Being Slytherins, changing tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-12 07:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 63,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipAndDealer/pseuds/ChipAndDealer
Summary: First year at Hogwarts is a time for self discovery, making friends, and possibly starting yourself on a horrible downward spiral where your exceptional abilities alienate yourself from everyone around you. Harry Potter, for reasons he's personally curious about, cannot seem to die or even be hurt. Draco Malfoy has been dealt the cruel hand by fate to have so little magical power as to be barely better than a squib. Hermione Granger is a deaf natural legilimens. And Ron Weasley has been inducted into the ultra-selective society known as the Sparrowkeet Lounge. One stop down the line is still a long way from canon.





	1. Bulletproof

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's your local AU Dealer, here to give a strange but hopefully coherent story that came about as a result of many offhanded conversations with my brother, Chip. In this case, a joke about Harry actually having the properties of a Horcrux, where he can't be hurt except by Basilisk, Fiendfire, etc. and not feeling pain until second year when the Basilisk bites into him and he freaks out.
> 
> So, naturally, I decided to write a whole story intermixing these random AUs into one big melting pot and seeing what came up. In any case, I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I did writing it.

It's an exceptionally odd thing in an existence populated almost entirely by odd things. I feel like it should be noted for posterity reasons, at least. My name is Harry Potter, and I'm of the firm opinion I cannot die.

This isn't baseless, and I never repeat sections of time or anything, but even at the ripe age of ten, there were several times I'm certain I should have died, but didn't, and I haven't the foggiest notion why. I could tell you for certain, it wasn't a family trait, as both my parents had perished in a car accident shortly after I was born, and my cousin Dudley seemed to suffer whatever injuries were inflicted upon him normally, but for all the times he tripped me down stairs or struck me with a stick, Dudley could never seem to create a single red cut on my pristine skin.

My only clue, my only wound, was a lightning bolt shaped scar on my forehead, and even my attempts to open that were fruitless. As far as I could tell, there was no way to wound me and if I couldn't be wounded, I couldn't die.

It was awfully annoying to my uncle Vernon, who viewed my inability to get hurt as yet another one of my failures, and my aunt Petunia, who whispered 'freak' as I passed her by. I wish I could say whether or not Dudley was annoyed by it, but I was never quite sure what was going on in that boy's thick skull. He's hardly enigmatic, but sometimes he would stare straight ahead and I would wonder if he was thinking about anything at all.

I wondered, sometimes, if he thought about the time I fell off the roof of the school building and suffered no damage, after suddenly finding myself up there to escape his gang, who had moved away from trying to hurt me physically by that point and instead tried to hurt me emotionally, usually by bringing up my dead parents. Oh, but that teleporting thing was weird, I did mention the not dying thing was just one of the weird things in my life, didn't I?

Speaking of weird, was that an owl sitting on my aunt's rosebush? I moved closer, torn between shooing it away or trying to figure out a way to not disturb it before I took a photo or sketched it or something. Are owls endangered? I supposed some of them had to be, but was that kind? The owl regarded me as I drew nearer, and extended a talon with a letter attached. The letter had my name, which was odd as no one ever sent me any letters, my 'address' included my primary residence being the cupboard under the stairs, and the fact it was being delivered by a possibly endangered owl finished off the weirdness trifecta.

What else was I supposed to do? I opened it.

"What've you got there, boy?" My uncle Vernon asked, unnecessarily shoving me aside as he moved past. "Resorted to stealing the post, have you?" He snatched the letter from my hand, brushing past the now owlless rosebush on his way inside.

I didn't manage to read anything more than the words 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,' but that was enough to get me thinking. I was certainly excited that I finally started getting some answers for my peculiar circumstances, though I must admit a trifle disappointed the letter seemed to prove my alien created android theory incorrect.

Unfortunately, beyond reducing my scifi expectations and increasing my fantasy ones, the letter produced another problem I needed to solve, or more specifically, the letter's location in my uncle's grasp. Despite my seeming invulnerability, it was not my uncle's physical retribution I feared, but his legal recourse. As my guardian, he chose my schools, programs I participated in, and many of the jobs around town I partook in. For better or worse, Vernon Dursley controlled my life. It was best to stay on his indifferent side. Still, the letter probably contained time sensitive information, and there was no way my uncle would winningly hand it over. It was a conundrum.

When I saw him stuff the letter into the lit fireplace, my conundrum reached a sudden conclusion.

The arrival of a second letter and, after its destruction, a third and more suggested a certain amount of persistence from the magic school, bordering on desperation. As the volume of letters grew, so too did my uncle's ire.

"Boy." He called from the front door, and I carefully maneuvered my way past a few wooden planks to meet him. When he saw I'd arrived, he shoved a meaty hand toward me, palm up. "Fetch me some screws, boy." In his other hand, I saw one of the aforementioned planks aligned to the mail slot, and on the ground beside him was a power tool. I retrieved the box of screws from a kitchen drawer and he took them with a grumble of, "see if they can get through that one."

I privately suspected that, given the possibility the senders were magic, simple wooden planks would not suffice. There was no need to inform my uncle of this fact.

In any case, after some consideration I decided my uncle's attempts to stop the steady influx of letters were ultimately beneficial to me. If this school was as desperate as it seemed, my failure to reply might force them to send a living representative. This would be where the most answers came from. Biding my time really was the best option.

When the letters tore through the boards covering the mail slot, as well as the fireplace, and several windows, I might have found it funny if it didn't spoil the representative idea.

Still, my uncle's pronouncement that we would go 'far away, where they can't find us' seemed to bring things back on track. 

I considered packing my things, but it had been ages since I'd touched the broken toys Dudley had thrown at me. To be honest, the mystery of my invulnerability and following that, the letters, had captured my interest far better than they could. I tucked a few of my nicer changes of clothes away, and waited to be shipped off wherever.

They'd known I lived in the cupboard under the stairs; either they could magically track people or they'd been spying on me and, whichever option, simply moving probably wouldn't matter.

The house, if it could be called that, was damp and cold but it wasn't like I could catch a chill so I didn't mind it too much. Similar to receiving no damage from great drops, knives, sticks, and fire, I also seemed unable to get sick or poisoned. Though, that didn't mean I could digest anything, mind; I learned that the hard way.

Staying in the house for several days with nothing to do but wait for a visitor that might never have come was a trial, to be sure. Dudley amused himself by throwing rocks at me from the small section of outside not covered in water, and I amused myself by pretending I wasn't being watched and no one would find the Dursley's bodies if they suffered mysterious island accidents.

Midnight came and went, officially marking me one year older. I never enjoyed birthdays, per-se, but after fully realizing the extent of my condition, more recently they became something of a wonder. It was the simplest time to reflect: could I die of old age? It was during this thought, there was a knock at the door.

Being the middle of the night, the dursleys were somewhat slow to respond and as Dudley blinked his bleary eyes awake and Vernon approached with a shotgun in hand, the knocks on the door grew louder and louder. I stood up and brushed off my grimy jeans, waiting expectantly. Answers were finally nigh.

The door came off its hinges and an enormous man stepped forward, seeming undeterred by the weapon my uncle held. Finally, I thought to myself, someone like me.

I thought he was rather cordial. "Sorry about tha'." He said, righting the door, more or less.

Uncle Vernon disagreed. "I demand that you leave at once, sir. You are breaking and entering."

He looked at Vernon, then at the gun he was holding, and seemed equally unimpressed at both. "Dry up, Dursley, you great prune." He said, bending the shotgun barrel up with one hand.

I stepped forward and cleared my throat, drawing his attention. "Are you a representative from the school?" I couldn't think who else he might be, but it was good to ask, nonetheless.

The man blinked down at me for a few moments before grinning. "Ah, Harry, knew ya were around here somewhere." He leaned in and whispered, conspiratorially, an effect which was diminished by his booming voice. "Thought ya were the big one for a minute." He shuffled around his clothes and produced a box from his many large pockets. "Got something for ya. Mighta sat on it, but it should still be good." Flicking his umbrella toward the fireplace was all it took to produce a flame and the damp lessened somewhat.

I accepted the box, looking inside to see what was apparently a birthday cake. I nodded in understanding. Definitely spies, then. "You seem to already know who I am." I said, closing the box. "Would you mind if I asked your name?"

He seemed surprised at my formality, but answered anyway. "O' course, Harry. Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts. 'Course you'd know all about Hogwarts."

"I wouldn't say that." I answered back, arranging what I knew into their proper places. "Hogwarts is a school for witchcraft and wizardry, which means magic is real and judging by the amount of letters and now a living representative of the school coming for me, I can use it. Due to the weather outside, I can assume you didn't come by boat which means magic has its own means of transportation available, as well as a way to keep from getting wet as you don't seem to be at all. I can assume it's a big school, to have such a big groundskeeper, but that's all I've managed to pick up so far." I decided to leave out my knowledge of the network of spies for the time being. That seemed like something I might want up my sleeve for later.

"Blimey, Harry." He said with a laugh. "You'll be a 'Claw for sure."

"Claw?" I asked, setting the cake aside for the moment.

"Ravenclaw." He said. "That's the house your mum could've been in, you know."

This was a surprise. I thought with a raised eyebrow. "My mum was magic?"

Now it was Hagrid's turn to look surprised. "Harry, do you know anything about your parents at all? All that they did for you?"

"Hagrid." I said slowly. "My parents died in a car crash."

For such a big man, the speed at which he whirled on the Dursleys was impressive. "A car crash? A car crash kill Lily and James Potter?" He roared, furious.

With Vernon's shaking, the bent gun went off and hit me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of me. I felt my body for any signs of injury but found none as I began breathing normally again after a moment.

Note to self: also bulletproof.

In one movement, Hagrid took the gun, cracked it in half, and was at my side, waving his umbrella over me and muttering something. After a few moments, he breathed a sigh of relief. "You had me right scared for a minute, there, Harry. Musta been loaded with blanks."

This had me crooking an eyebrow. "Are wizards not bulletproof?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "There are a couple o' charms can make your skin harder or shield yourself, but not most o' the time, no."

Note to self: wizards are not bulletproof.

He checked an old watch hidden away in another pocket. "Looks like we're just about on schedule. Come along, Harry."

I began walking after him, when Vernon's voice shouted. "He'll not be going." Causing me to freeze.

Vernon was still my guardian, and whatever school I went to was up to him.

Hagrid spun again, pointing the umbrella at the unarmed Dursley. "And I suppose a great muggle like yourself's gonna stop him, are you?"

I watched this play out, curiously, getting the distinct impression 'muggle' was a slur of some sort.

I learned a few more facts in the exchange:

Firstly, Hogwarts' headmaster was a man named Albus Dumbledore, whom Hagrid respected enough that he wouldn't tolerate anyone speaking poorly of him.

Secondly, Hagrid referred to Hogwarts as 'the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world' which meant there were others. So why was it only Hogwarts that wanted me so badly?

Thirdly, with Hagrid's blatant override of the Dursley's authority and taking me away in an almost kidnapping fashion, I could only conclude one thing: wizards were above the law.

In an instant after leaving the house, we were in London and for the first time in a decade, I was free from the Dursleys.

Hagrid patted his pockets for a moment. "Oops, almost forgot." He withdrew one of the school letters and handed it to me. "Congratulations, Harry. Yer going to Hogwarts."

The letter was about what I expected, accepting me into the school and giving me a list of supplies I would need to buy, or did I need to steal it since I was a wizard? I would need clarification on that.

"Can you tell me about Hogwarts, Hagrid?" I asked. "I'd like to know a bit more."

He shrugged, amiably. "Well sure, Harry. What is it you wanted to know?"

"You called me a Ravenclaw." I pointed out. "What is that?"

"Ravenclaw's one o' the four houses at Hogwarts. They're real keen on learning and books. Hufflepuff's got friendly folk, hardworking too. Griffindor's house o' the brave." He beamed at that. "That's the house I was in, back when I were a student."

I nodded, ticking through them. "That's three houses, what's the fourth?"

His smile transformed to a grimace. "Slytherin's the last one. Hasn't been a wizard gone bad wasn't in Slytherin. Might be best to keep away, if I were you."

"So I should choose Griffindor, then?" I asked, eliciting another chuckle from the enormous man.

"Don't need to choose. Hogwarts' got a sorting hat do it for ya. It'll pick the house you most belong in." He explained, and I quirked an eyebrow at the idea.

"So the hat can see the future?" I asked, and he shook his head.

"Not s'far as I know. The sorting hat can peek at your memories while you're wearing it. That's how it decides." We walked into a dark pub, the barman calling a greeting to Hagrid, and Hagrid waving him off. "Not today, Tom. Gotta help Harry with his school supplies, Hogwarts business, you know."

The barman, apparently Tom, looked down at me and his face fell. "Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter."

I would have to describe what happened next, patrons shoving past each other to mob me, as chaos. I weathered the ordeal with a bemused smile, not minding crowds so much since the worry of being trampled to death didn't apply to me, and shook as many hands as I could before Hagrid could lift me away.

I didn't notice one man, patting a smoldering hand on his robes as we left, not quite quick enough to get away from me.

"Care to explain that?" I asked Hagrid after we entered an alleyway behind the pub.

Hagrid looked uncomfortable. "Explain what, Harry?"

"I don't usually get surrounded by admirers." I answered with a deadpan stare.

He tapped his umbrella on a few stones and the path opened up to reveal a bustling market street. "You might notice a few folks recognize ya down here." He said, walking forward and I moved to walk beside him. "This here's Diagon Alley, the best wizarding market in London."

"Recognize me for what, exactly?" I asked, and Hagrid ran a large hand down his face.

"I might not be the best person to ask that, Harry." He admitted, cryptically.

"Is it because of my scar?" I'd been waiting to ask since he arrived at the shack but this finally seemed like an opening and with the way his eyes widened, a good one.

"How'd you know about that, Harry?" He asked, ushering me to the side of the street, sitting down at some cafe or ice cream shop table outside.

I shrugged. "Just a guess. How did I get it?"

Hagrid's shoulder slumped, and he drew even closer to speak in a low voice. "You know I said a lotta bad wizards came from Slytherin?" I nodded for him to continue. "Well, one of them was the worst. His name was..." he visibly winced, seeming to have trouble saying it. He made a 'V' sound a few times before finally managing to say it. "His name was Voldemort." He breathed out like it took a force of effort to verbalize.

"Why is it so hard to say?" I asked, and Hagrid took a handkerchief from one of his pockets and used it to wipe his brow.

"Not many like to think about when he was out and about, Harry, me included; they were dark times. Nowadays, even his name is bad luck, people'd rather call him 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'."

"He gave me this scar?" For a moment, I felt a flash of something new, something far more visceral than my normal quietly accepting calm. There was a man who could actually hurt me, he existed and could exist again. I could die.

Fear, is what I felt. For the first time, not the acknowledgement of consequences that kept me following my aunt and uncle's instructions, or the rejection of an uncomfortable scenario that kept me running away from my cousin's friends. This was real. This was fear.

It was an understatement to say I didn't like it.

"Vol-" he shook his head, apparently giving up on saying his name. "You-Know-Who was powerful, almost as much as Dumbledore, and when he wanted someone dead there wasn't anything 'could be done to stop him." The rest of the alley fell away as he spoke, forgotten for the moment in what Hagrid was saying. "Yer parents were great wizards, Harry, and they fought him hard as they could, but he killed them like he did everyone else." He pointed at me, and my blood ran cold. "Everyone else but you. There was something about you, that night when he attacked your house, something that stumped him. That's why you have that scar, that's why you're famous. You're the Boy-Who-Lived." He breathed the last title like it was a badge of honor, but I could only feel dread.

I had thought, somehow, that the scar had made me invulnerable, but it seemed I was wrong. If one of the strongest dark wizards in the world couldn't kill me when I was a baby then it was clear I was immortal even then. So much for that lead.

Add onto that he'd managed to hurt me even then, and I needed to be careful dealing with magic. "What happened to him, after he didn't kill me?"

"No one knows." Hagrid said with a sigh. "Some say he died, but that's codswallop, if you ask me. I reckon he's out there somewhere, just too tired to go on."

Or too hidden to be discovered, I thought to myself.

Still, whatever Voldemort did gave a new avenue for exploration. Somehow, he could damage me, maybe through figuring out how he could, I would discover how most people couldn't.

Having already sat down at an ice cream shop, Hagrid ordered some for both of us and we enjoyed it before setting off in an effort to find the miscellaneous odd items on my school list.

Shortly after we set off, we met up again because I had no money. I'm honestly not quite sure how that slipped my mind for a moment. So we set off again with new purpose, entering the Gringotts Bank.

"Is there a stipend for students or something? Because, I don't have an account here." I tried explaining, but Hagrid just waved me off.

"You really think your parents didn't leave you anything, Harry?" Everything that followed was either incredible or suspicious, not that the two were mutually exclusive.

We saw my enormous vault apparently filled with gold coins which aligned with my fantasy expectations nicely. We rode on a track at high speeds which was something it didn't seem Hagrid agreed with, but what was the worst that could happen to me? I'd fall? It'd be inconvenient, not harmful. Hagrid picked up a single sack from an otherwise empty vault and told me not to mention it to anyone, which definitely qualified as suspicious, but I said I wouldn't, anyway, and we left the bank with our pockets a bit heavier.

Hagrid and I went off to collect different items on the list and when I went to be fitted for robes, as was apparently the school uniform, I met a silver haired boy for the first time. His name was Draco Malfoy.


	2. Blood of the Scion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squibs are a pretty fun concept in HP, not the least because of how weirdly canon treats them. The only squibs that get any real amount of screentime are Ms Figg and Filch, and it treats their lack of magical ability as kind of a joke?
> 
> In any case, two stories I've read that explore the concept of being a squib or, as in the case of Draco here, squibesque, are Almost A Squib by BajaB (fanfiction.net) and These Little Powerless Bones by dirgewithoutmusic (Ao3) I enjoy the way both of these use little tricks to get around their magical deficits, so I decided to throw my hat in the ring, except this time with someone a little less utilized: Draco.

Blood, my father always told me, is where power comes from. I could be the lowliest son of a Ministry accountant but with my blood I would always have the ability to rise above. Of course, I was not the lowliest son of a Ministry accountant; I was the Scion of the House of Malfoy. My blood made me better, my blood gave me power. I only wished it gave me a little more. My name is Draco Malfoy, and despite my blood I am almost a squib.

Some days were fine, and I could squeak through my studies without incident, but other days when father wanted to test my practical skills were the ones I dreaded. I couldn't stand the look on his face, when yet another stunner fell lifelessly on his simple shield, when my cutting curses left little more than a bruise, when I could only just stop the bleeding when he hit me with one instead of healing the wound entirely. His face, a mask of encouragement, a false assurance that 'you'll grow into your power' that 'it's in your blood' while I could always see past it at what he really felt: despair.

He and I both knew I would never be powerful, we were just too stubborn to admit it to each other.

I tried to make up for it, studying the theory to exhaustion, practicing the movements for each spell to exactness until it felt like my arm was burning. I could tell my spells improved, I could feel it, but I was never anywhere close to shattering that shield.

Of all the places to find inspiration, I would never have guessed the family's house elf. It was only a whim, after all, when I asked him, "Elf, you've seen me practice, I know you have. How should I improve?"

The elf looked startled to be addressed, which made sense, why would the Malfoy heir be speaking to such a lowly creature? He thought for a few moments and I was just about to snap at him when he finally answered. "Master Draco is not a powerful wizard," he said and before I could answer he went on, "but he is a clever wizard. Dobby is clever, but Dobby is a House Elf; Dobby must follow rules." He looked at me and his expression was a curious one that killed my insult in my throat. "Why does clever master Draco follow rules?"

It was like a light went up in my mind. I was a Malfoy, and all this time I'd been trying to shove my way past my father's defenses like some brutish Weasley. At the rate I was going, always studying and following the rules, I was going to end up in Ravenclaw.

Ravenclaw.

Ridiculous, I thought to himself. The Scion to the Malfoy family being sorted into Ravenclaw, it would have been a disaster, and it took this House Elf to recognize that. Maybe... I shook my head. Now wasn't the time to think about that. I gave the Elf a gruff dismissal, and turned to begin making plans. I would be a Slytherin, which meant it was high time I began to show some cunning.

My next spar with my father was different. This alone made me happy, but the results overjoyed me still. I'd finally hurt him.

My strategy had been so simple, we'd begun like always and my father had put up his same bored shield but instead of fruitlessly casting at it, I ran forward like I would fling myself at it. He took a step back in surprise, but I scuffed dirt up in the air toward his face, darting to the side when he blinked and mustering as much energy as I could into a cutting curse at his wand arm. My form was perfect, my pronunciation peerless, and his shield only extended in front of him. I was overjoyed as I saw his blood, his power, leak from him into the ground - only a few drops, but that was enough.

For that moment, that flicker in my life, my power was enough.

Then my father spoke again. "What are you gawking at, Draco? Finish the fight." He sent a scarlet stunner I skittered away from and the spar continued.

I lost, but that wasn't very surprising. I realized the errors as I made them and memorized them so I would never make them again. One of my faults was simply not enough planning. That first spar I'd only planned far enough to land that one cutting curse, this was clearly not enough. I needed to extend my sight farther, to see the conclusion of the fight. My father wasn't seriously dueling me or I'd have been a smear on the floor by that time, but it was clear he expected me to defeat him before I received any recognition.

This was fine. Now I had a goal.

"Elf." I called, once I was in my room again, and the servant appeared.

"Yes, Master Draco Sir?" He asked, wringing his hands.

"I need you to acquire some books." I told him sharply, handing a small pouch of coins with a devious smile.

"What sort of books, Master Draco Sir?" The Elf took the pouch, looking at it and me curiously.

My father could be caught off guard and injured, I knew that now. But a trick so simple as kicking dirt probably wouldn't work again. There was one thing I knew he'd never suspect, however: "Muggle books, of course."

Ah, father wouldn't approve. It was going against the rules, after all, what could muggles possibly offer a Malfoy?

The muggles, for all their idiocy and brutishness had managed to endlessly fight and kill each other for thousands of years which meant even without magic they were not without weapons and strategies of their own. Sometime as I was counting my errors, I had realized one my father and I actually shared: we lacked perspective. Ah, of course I already knew the Malfoy perspective was superior to any others but that did not make it the only one, and since it relied rather heavily on magical power I was forced to improvise. Muggles had a perspective I could use... and Elves too, once I thought about it. "Bring me muggle books you think will help me against my father." I commanded, and the beast looked shocked that I would actually ask for its judgement.

"Yes, Master Draco Sir. Dobby goes right away to fetch the books." With a snap of his fingers, the elf was gone.

I cracked open my potions text, going over its contents once more. I would never say potion making was easy, the theory behind it was too complex, the instructions too rigid, but it was an artless craft I could tell even from that young age. Everything that needed to be done required no feeling, no spirit, no power. A handful of trained monkeys could produce a perfect potion and the fact a human might not be able to do the same was insulting.

Still, memorizing those exacting instructions was something I could spend time on, and my manual dexterity had improved at that point through the wand practice I'd done. I wasn't allowed to practice often, father insisted after my surprise attack that my practical lessons were increased, but my godfather did come by to give me private tutoring. I, of course, made no mention of my own thoughts regarding potions to him. Severus Snape was many things but an easily forgiving man was not one of them.

I did, however, ask him for advice. "I've been dueling with my father quite a bit, lately." I began, chopping the porcupine quills into twelve millimeter increments.

"Lucius has always kept a close eye on your progress." He answered, an inarguable statement without weighing an opinion either way.

"You're a duelist, is there something you know I could do to improve?" I tried to sound even, I tried not to let my eagerness show in my voice as I kept my face down to cut the quills. I tried, anyway.

Snape gave a sigh and I couldn't help the wince that flashed across my face at the sound. "Dueling is a contest of wills and knowledge, Draco. It is tantamount to know as much about your enemy as possible while hiding as much of yourself. If your opponent cannot guess your movements while you can predict theirs your victory is practically assured."

I nodded my head in understanding. Hiding myself, huh? When I first thought about it, I assumed it would be difficult, but what did my father even really know about me? Did he know I hated potions? Did he know how long I practiced to be able to cast what spells I knew with any power at all? Did he know I had asked a House Elf's opinion on which muggle books I would be learning from? He probably knew none of that.

I stopped cutting the quills, scooping them into the cauldron a few at a time and watching the mixture turn blue. When it got to the same shade as the one in the book, I stopped and stirred thrice widdershins. It was exactly what the instructions said, it was perfect, it was boring. Snape seemed satisfied, however, and I wondered after the lesson ended if he ever felt as bored as I did, brewing potions. If he did, why would he choose it as a profession? He was a fair hand at dueling, and a decent healer to boot, so why did he spend his time bent over a cauldron all the time? I simply couldn't imagine an explanation.

Still, when Dobby, that is, when the Elf arrived with the books and what was left of the money I'd prepared, my godfather's career choice took a step back for my priorities. The first book wasn't only muggle, it was foreign as well. I gave the Elf a disdainful look. "Sun Tzu?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dobby nodded furiously to the point I was worried his head would become unhinged. I did not want to explain an exploded elf in a room with muggle books to my parents.

The Elf seemed sure and the money was already spent so I didn't destroy the book, only set it to the side. Besides, if there was an Art to War, maybe it would be more interesting than potions.

The next book title caught my eye: The Prince. I grimaced at another foreign name attached to it, however. What was this Elf's problem with English authors? Who even was this 'Machiavelli'?

The third was a book on boxing, and the fourth a book on dueling with sabers, curiously enough. They seemed to have English authors, so I endeavored to read them first.

My opinion of the House Elf seemed to improve, ever so slightly, with each turn of the page. The books were long, but in-depth, and each one had a clear artistry to the act they described: the sport for boxing, conflict for dueling, politics for Machiavelli, and - as the title suggested - war for Sun Tzu.

I kept up on my other readings only enough to get by, these books became my life for a time. It was funny, for a Malfoy, but I lived and breathed those muggles. I thought about their words for days on end without a word of it to my parents or my godfather. When I had finished, I acted the perfect Malfoy, I hid myself as my godfather had said, as Sun Tzu had said. When they looked they saw their perfect pureblood prince, but they had no idea what Machiavelli said about Princes.

The solution to my father's spar was almost insultingly easy. He'd fallen lackadaisical once again as I tried no tricks past that first one, instead taking careful notes on the way he moved and reacted. His shield shimmered in the air and I almost laughed at how impossible I had found it before. I shot a blasting curse at the ground, not enough with my capabilities to create even a hole but it could kick up some dust and I fell out of my father's vision for a moment. He whirled around as something struck him from behind and he saw Dobby with a sheepish expression but defiant odds. "You dreadful beast." He cursed, but before he could sling even a single spell I was there.

I was never much for gardening, but it was a singularly good feeling to plant that muggle knife in my father's back.

His scream gave me a chance to remove the knife, where another yell occurred, and hide it away in my robes, cleaning the blood from it with a charm.

My mother came out, and immediately ran inside to call my godfather, who began healing the wound when he arrived. Snape gave me an odd look while he was doing it, and I didn't even try to decipher it. He never considered me important enough to hide things from me.

When my father woke up, he laughed, startling everyone involved. "Draco, you sly son of a Slytherin, how long have you been hiding your power from me?" He asked with a grin that seemed alien on his face. "That was the strongest Diffindo I'd ever felt. Felt like you hit me with the Cruciatus, and your mother even called Severus to heal it. Excellent, my boy. I knew you would grow into your power, I told you, didn't I? It's in your blood."

I smiled, plasticly, fingering the knife in my robes. "I never doubted you for a moment, father." I answered, like the dutiful Malfoy he saw.

"Narcissa, break out the firewhiskey, this calls for a celebration." He called to my mother, and she shot him a look that said 'we'll discuss this later' and walked back into the house.

"I suppose this means you intend not to keep him from Hogwarts and give him private tutors?" Snape asked with a forced idleness.

Ah.

I had known there was some kind of limit to these spars, but I never assumed he would keep me from Hogwarts entirely. I would have been an outcast among polite circles, and my lack of power would have been immediately obvious to anyone. If I had not won, my life would have been irreparably ruined. He would have rather seen my life burn than have me disgrace him at school.

My smile remained plastic.

The four of us sat down for dinner and I was allowed to sample the firewhiskey. Where I couldn't taste it, it burned, and where I could, it was vile. I couldn't understand my elders' fascination with it.

"Just imagine," my father said as Dobby cleared away the empty dishes, "all that with a borrowed wand. We'll go to Ollivander's tomorrow to buy you a proper one."

I nodded and excused myself to bed. We would need to go to Diagon Alley for my school supplies. There was no way my father would buy them if I was staying to be tutored at home.

I don't know how. It should have been impossible, but the look on Ollivander's face as we walked in showed he knew. Somehow he knew who I was, and not just in the Malfoy heir sense, he knew me. The wand that chose me was hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core. He told me it was "reasonably pliant," and smiled when he said it like it was some kind of joke. My father expected dragon heartstring, but even he wouldn't argue with a wand that matched.

"Reasonably pliant." He had said. I had read before of the differences in wand wood and I knew hawthorn was far more adaptable than my father's rigid elm wand, but also more prone to accidents and unexpected results. Ollivander hadn't guessed, he had known, I could feel it. I could also do nothing about it, so we paid for the wand and left the store.

My parents assured me they would take care of the rest of my supplies if I stayed to have my robes fitted. I agreed, not particularly keen on going shopping even if Dobby would be doing most of the work and it was there I saw a black haired boy walking in to be fitted beside me.

I didn't recognize him, so he wasn't one of the old families, though he did seem a bit like a Black, at least in the way he held himself, like he was invincible. Did Andromeda have another child? They were disowned by the Black family, so it wasn't like they would be invited to my family's galas.

"Hogwarts first year?" I asked. Machiavelli stressed politeness.

He smiled at the friendly overture, trying to move before Madame Malkin yelled at him to keep still. "Yes, actually. What about you?"

My mind flicked to the very real possibility I wouldn't have been, but I forced my grimace down. "Certainly seems that way. I don't think I've seen you around, are you one of Andromeda's?"

He shrugged, Madame Malkin snapping at him again. "My mother's name was Lily?" He tried, and I shook my head.

"Never mind. Are you muggleborn, then?" I asked, instead. My father would have had a fit if he saw I was having such a civil conversation with a mudblood, but The Prince was quite clear on this: 'If an injury must be done to a man, it should be so severe his vengeance need not be feared.' Politeness costs nothing, but making an unknown enemy was foolishness.

He seemed surprised at the question. "I did mean to ask someone about that: what is a muggle?" He asked and I forced down a chuckle.

"Muggles are non magical people, so a muggleborn would be a wizard born from muggles." I explained, a bit amused he didn't even know that much. "Did professor McGonagall not explain this to you when she visited?"

He shook his head, an action which Madame Malkin was fine with, at least, for the moment. "Hagrid, the gamekeeper, was the one to visit. He's been something of a guide, even if his answers are a bit frustratingly vague at times." He thought for a moment. "And I'm not a muggleborn, apparently, to answer your previous question."

This was odd for a few reasons, and by the boy's smile I could see he knew it too. "What is your name?" I hazarded.

"Harry Potter." He answered, and his hair shifted at that moment to reveal his lightning bolt scar, like fate.

I couldn't help myself: I laughed.

"You don't believe me?" He asked, amused at least by the hilarity I found in his identity.

"No, I believe you." I assured him. "It's just too perfect." At his expression, I elaborated. "You're a bit famous, if you didn't know."

He gave a chuckle, trying hard not to move so Madame Malkin wouldn't chastise him again. "Hagrid did mention something like that, yeah." He seemed to consider for a moment before asking. "Do you know what curse Voldemort used, to give me this scar?"

This set everyone in the room off balance and I struggled to think of what to say next. Madame Malkin informed me I was done and I stepped off the raised platform she had me on and stepped toward him. "Potter, there are a few things you should be aware of about the wizarding world: first, muggles aren't widely respected, so you should at least make a token effort not to sound like one, second, no one says the Dark Lord's name except Dumbledore so if you don't want to draw a lot of attention to yourself, call him You-Know-Who, and third, asking around about dark magic is going to put you on the fast track of untrustworthy." I leaned closer, whispering as I passed. "Look up the Unforgiveables, if you're really so curious."

He called out to me as I reached the door. "I never caught your name."

I smile, looking over my shoulder. "Draco Malfoy, Scion and heir of the ancient and noble house Malfoy." I didn't say it with the pomp and parade my father usually did, but rather with a hint of resignation. I said it as a fact, only, and then I left.

I wouldn't see Potter again until after I boarded the train to Hogwarts, but as I stepped out into platform nine and three quarters, my father introduced me to two boys my age. "These are Crabbe and Goyle, sons of my business associates, Draco." He said with a superior smirk. "They have strict orders from their parents to make your time at Hogwarts as comfortable as possible."

Ah, I understood. My father had ordered me minions. There was a time I would have been pleased at his... thoughtful gift, but The Prince had thoughts on this as well, and I happened to fervently agree: 'The first measure of a ruler's intelligence is to look at the men he has around him.'

I thanked my father, and the three of us boarded the train and found an empty compartment to sit down in. I waited for the train to start before I spoke. "Crabbe, Goyle?"

The two nodded, and I looked at their eyes for hints of curiosity or intrigue and found only a sort of bare acceptance.

I sighed. "Are either of you skilled in a particular branch of magic?" I asked and received two headshakes no. "In potions, then?" No. "Herbology?" No. "Curse breaking, care for magical creatures?" Another headshake. "Are you skilled in spying or sabotage, any kind of stealthy art?" Also no. "Do either of you have a knack or training in tactics?" No. "Is there anything either of you can offer me besides two bodies and brute strength?" They looked at each other before finally shaking their heads no.

At least they were honest. "It would make me comfortable if you got out of my sight, and never spoke to me unless you had something constructive to say." The two obliged and I realized I was the only one that spoke in the entire interaction. I shook my head. My father may have enjoyed yes-men, but I lacked his strength in magical power and his experience. I needed to surround myself in people who could make up some of the dearths my own skills created.

It was with this thought a head of mousy brown hair poked its way through my compartment door. "Would you mind if I sat here? Everywhere else is full." She asked, and I gestured to the seat, as if to say 'be my guest.'

This was how I met Hermione Granger.


	3. A Lesser-Born Snitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legilimency is a cool concept and one far too often in my opinion absolutely nullified by Occlumency or rendering Occlumency a joke with no in between. Hermione, also, is a character I feel doesn't get touched enough by AUs, even when she rightfully should. But why complain when I can write instead?

I was always odd, even if I had trouble admitting it to myself. I would hear it, from the other girls at school, from the boys in my neighborhood, even from the patients at my parents' clinic. Bookworm. Know-it-all. Teacher's pet. Snitch. Those weren't nearly as fun as the ones that came later, though. Stalker. Spy. Pervert. Freak. I heard them all. My name is Hermione Granger, I've been deaf for four years and I still hear them, every time I look into their eyes.

It was Sunday, so my dad was cooking that night. He was always more fond of Oriental cuisine, so a rice and stir fry dish was what made up the meal. I suggested some green tea to top it off and he agreed, letting me fill the kettle and place it on the stove. I clicked the stopwatch I had chained to a beltloop of my jeans, and trusted it to let me know when I should start keeping an eye on the kettle. Whoever said 'a watched pot never boils' clearly had full use of their ears. Some time ago, I'd put the kettle on and become immersed in a book and my dad returned from the store to see the water had completely boiled off. I got the stopwatch not long after. 

I looked at my mum, hair a little frazzled with bags beginning to peek out under her eyes and when she met my gaze I heard, "What are we going to do? She can't keep going like this. There has to be a way for the bullying to end. If she would just tell me their names I could report them, but..."

I looked away, and the sound stopped. Her lips didn't move, but they never did when I heard things. I loved reading, and I could and would sit for hours on end devouring pages and words. I would never call it mind reading, what I did; it was too gross, too sickening to be associated with the books I loved so much. I heard people's thoughts, from time to time, that was all. They were the only things I still heard.

I was just taking the kettle off the boil when my dad looked up sharply, and as his gaze brushed across mine, I heard, "who could that be at this hour?"

I turned to see my mum answering the door, and the woman standing there when she did seemed to be dressed in flowing green robes with a pointed cap of the same unorthodox hue. I looked at her lips first as she said, "...daughter, Hermione Granger. May I come in? This may be a bit of a shock to you." My mum waved her in and her eyes swept over the room before meeting mine. "Such a small thing on the verge of entering a much bigger world." She thought. "What a time, too. People have just begun to forget about the war. Most of the children in her year won't remember it at all."

She looked away, and the world grew silent once again.

My dad entered the room, drying his hands on a towel and his lips said. "...should face toward her if you want her to understand you. She'll pick up most of it and we can sign her whatever she's confused about."

The woman turned to angle herself so everyone could see her and I saw her ask. "Has she been deaf her whole life?" Causing my mum to stiffen and my dad to shake his head with a sigh.

"No, there was an accident a few years back." He didn't elaborate and the woman didn't push. "What did you want to talk about, regarding our daughter?" He asked, and the furrow of his brow told me his voice held a vaguely threatening edge.

"Magic, Mr. Granger." Was her simple reply. "I am the deputy headmistress for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I am here as a representative to inform you your daughter, Hermione Granger, is a witch and has been accepted into Hogwarts." She handed them a letter sealed with red wax and waited as the two tried to process all she had just told them.

She seemed to notice that I looked less like my perception of reality had been blown open, but that was partially because it hadn't. My reasons for my strange ability, in order of likeliness were: madness, mutant gene, secret Betazoid, magic, divine intervention, and a forgotten deal with the Devil. As the fourth most likely option, the confirmation that magic was real was well within the realm of possibility. I honestly would have been more surprised to learn god was real and had directly affected me to teach me a lesson or some such thing.

My mum and dad exchanged looks. "It's not that we don't believe you..." my mum started. "But could we get a demonstration?" My dad finished.

The woman nodded, withdrawing a stick from her sleeve and tapping it against a table, turning it seamlessly into a pig. I nodded, taking a step back as the creature moved around the room. I never much liked animals; I could never hear them.

My mum ran a hand down the pig's back as it passed before quickly withdrawing it, like it was burned. "Thank you, that's enough."

The woman touched the pig with the stick again and it turned back into the table, leaving the room in silence for a few minutes. Finally, I asked, "what sort of school is it?"

She looked over at me, as I addressed her, and she met my gaze, allowing me to hear her again. "Should I tell her about the different subjects? Or the castle? Or the teachers?"

"Can you tell me about the students?" I elaborated before she could say anything.

She nodded, obligingly. "The students are sorted into one of four houses at the beginning of the school year. These will act as your family and most likely a majority of your friends while in the school. There is Gryffindor, home to the brave and selfless, Hufflepuff, home to the persistent and loyal, Slytherin, home to the cunning and ambitious, and Ravenclaw, home to the studious and wise."

"How do you know?" I asked, and the woman blinked, not understanding the question. "How do you know if I am brave, or loyal, cunning, or wise? What if even I don't know?"

"We have a sorting hat that can dig deep into your memories. It decides which house you are placed in." She explained, and that pricked my ears up.

"So it can hear my thoughts?" My mum and dad both stood a little straighter. It had been a while since I'd talked about that.

The woman seemed puzzled by my sudden eagerness, but nodded anyway. "Yes, Miss Granger. Once it is placed on your head it can hear your thoughts." I met her gaze again and heard. "It and every legilimens that looks into your eyes, I suppose."

"Legilimens?" I asked, and then she really was startled. "What's a legilimens?"

"Legilimency is a rare branch of magic that specializes in navigating through minds. Where did you hear about them, Miss Granger?" She looked away at that point, and the noise from her mind stopped.

"I heard it." I said, feeling so close to a revelation. "From you."

I couldn't hear, but I knew by the way the air itself seemed to still that the room had gone quiet. "Miss Granger." The woman said after a rough swallow. "There is a technique a few practiced legilimens use to peer into someone's mind with nothing more than a look into their eyes. Are you trying to tell me you can do the same?" She met my gaze again and I heard. "And here I thought Harry Potter would be the only anomaly this year."

"Who is Harry Potter?" I asked and she gasped at the confirmation. She stood up from her chair and for a moment I worried that I'd pushed too far, that she would leave, but instead she kneeled down in front of me.

"Hermione Granger." She said, and I heard the same thing in her thoughts. "You have a special gift that Hogwarts can help you master even further, if you'll let it. I am convinced that if you work hard and pay attention in classes you will be no less than the finest witch in Europe."

She stood, and gave a small bow to my parents. "I will send an owl in a week. You may send a letter with it with your decision to enroll Miss Granger or not."

Before she left, I shouted. "Wait," and everyone turned to look at me. I took a step back, sheepish. "I... never got your name."

"It's Minerva, dear. Minerva McGonagall." She said with a smile, and she walked right out the door and disappeared with a crack.

The following week was tense, to say the least. None of us really knew what to say about the visit, so we settled on saying nothing. Finally, on the sixth day, my mum approached me. I set the book I was reading aside and looked up at her.

"I'd thought the hearing thoughts thing had passed." She said, her arms wrapped around herself, like she needed comfort for the conversation to follow.

I gave a helpless shrug. "You didn't like me bringing it up." I looked away, cutting off the sounds of her mind. "I would stop if I could."

We sat in silence for a few minutes before she laid a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look back at her. "Hermione, I could never hate something you can do. I was just worried what it could mean." Tears welled in her eyes. "I thought, oh god, I thought..." she shook her head, and the tears began to fall. "But now I hear it's magic and you might learn how to control it and..." she flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around me, sobbing for a few moments before she pulled away. "I always knew you were special, Hermione. I was just waiting for the world to realize it."

We sent our acceptance the next day: I was going to Hogwarts.

The first true magical area I set foot in was Diagon Alley, a street lined with shops on both sides and a massive bank at the end. It was apparent very early on that the dress code for the wizarding world was drastically different from my own, as my family was instantly recognized as foreign. They used the term muggle, which I heard from looking into a few eyes meant 'non-magical people'. I instantly disliked the term. The word was fine, there was nothing inherently wrong with it; it was the faces people made when they said it, I despised. At some point down the line muggle stopped being a technical term used to describe a people and began to mean 'lesser'. It was after this realization, the faces began to make sense.

"Bookstore's right over there, deary. Don't worry about getting lost, it must be exciting, a lesser's first look at Diagon Alley."

"You'll need to go to Madame Malkins. She'll set you up with some robes so you can get out of those uncomfortable lesser clothes."

"You must be looking for our beginner potion set, as a lesser-born."

It got to the point where I would have actually preferred the proper slur they had for me, the one hanging on their lips and screaming from their eyes: mudblood. I kept looking, and I kept hearing it, until I squeezed my eyes shut and let the silence of my mind take reign once again. I thought being magic would be different, I thought I might finally get the chance to be part of a group, maybe make some friends, but I could tell this place was the same as everywhere else. I was an outsider, an outcast, a freak.

The books I read only confirmed my suspicions. I learned about blood purity, about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The logical part of my brain told me it would end the same way every day at school did, and I would be alone.

I boarded the train anyway. Don't ask me why, I couldn't tell you. It was just a feeling I had, that nothing would change if I sat there and did nothing. The feeling was enough. I passed by a few full compartments, and one or two that a quick look at their eyes told me didn't want me there before I finally peeked into one, almost completely empty. My eyes met the blond haired boy's and caught the end of a thought. "...need to surround myself with people who can make up some of the dearths my own skills create."

I steeled my resolve and asked. "Would you mind if I sat here? Everywhere else is full."

He gestured to the empty seat and I sat down, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. I extended a hesitant hand and gave a smile. "I'm Hermione Granger."

He took it. "Draco Malfoy." And in his thoughts, he added. "Is there something wrong with her voice?"

"Sorry if my voice is a little off." I explained, carefully, reaching a hand up and tapping at one ear. "I can read lips but I can't hear."

He seemed to perk up at this. "You can read lips? At what range?" He asked, and in his thoughts added, "Only on the train a few minutes and I've already found someone with a valuable skill."

I smiled, genuinely. This boy was a bit strange, but it had been a while since I'd even gotten this far in the friendmaking process. "It's easier when they have clear diction, and sometimes I can't understand people with beards at all, but I've 'eavesdropped' from around thirty meters before." I shrugged at his surprised expression. "I've got sharp eyes." I said, by way of explanation.

He laughed, an action I saw, rather than heard. "Incredible, I can't believe I never looked into it before. Most students will probably trust a silencing charm to keep their secrets, but you can read them right off their lips..."

"I'm not a spy." I yelled, standing.

Heat bloomed on my face, and I made for the door, before Draco stepped in my way, expression apologetic. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me." He blurted out and I heard along with it, "I don't need minions. I need equals. Stop treating her like something disposable, Malfoy."

I stepped back as I realized he blamed himself for my outburst and sat back down. "No, I'm sorry. I overreacted. My schoolmates have not always been overly understanding of my condition."

He nodded, and sat back down, relaxing again. "Let's start again. I'm Draco Malfoy. I've lived in the wizarding world my whole life, I'm a first year at Hogwarts, going into Slytherin house."

I swiftly organized the new information in my head before replying. "That would be cunning and ambitious, correct?" He replied in the affirmative. "So what exactly are you so ambitious for?"

He looked away for a moment, silencing himself. "I want to change... things. I don't know what, yet. But, there's something unbalanced with the way we do things in the wizarding world. I can feel it." He looked back at me. "Sorry. I've started rambling, now."

When it was clear he wouldn't say more, I put in my own introduction. "Well, I'm Hermione Granger. I'm a first year at Hogwarts and only found out I was a witch a few weeks ago. I'm deaf and I love books."

He perked up at this. "Books? Like muggle books?"

My lips pursed at that word, but I answered anyway. "All books, magical and not."

"Do you know Machiavelli?" He asked, excitedly.

I nodded, startled, but before I could elaborate he asked. "Can you take me to meet him sometime?"

I looked away from his eyes, uncertainly. He was completely serious. "I don't know how to tell you this, Draco, but Machiavelli has been dead for several hundred years."

His face fell like I'd just told him I'd put down his dog. "Ah." He said, and cleared his throat. After a few moments he breathed a sigh and said. "Thank you for your honesty. I value it."

In his head he was berating himself, so I tried to ease his worries. "It's a little embarrassing, but I've made that mistake before, more times than I can count. The authors of those books were my heroes, my friends. I would have given anything to meet them."

He sighed, face still a bit glum. "I was never good at making friends. I could go through the motions, smile, ply, compliment, but those aren't real. Sometimes there would be a book, though, and the writer would seem so much more real, so much more faithful. They would be my friends and I wouldn't even have to try." He gave me a wan smile. "What a world that would be, huh?"

"I'd like to be your friend, Draco." I said quietly.

He looked up, surprised. "You would?"

I bit my lip, looking away so I couldn't hear his thoughts. "If you'll be mine."

I looked up to see him standing, hand outstretched with a smile. "That'll be the easiest deal I've ever made."

He was a very odd boy, but honest. I appreciated his honesty. I took his hand and we became friends, just like that.

The rest of the train ride seemed to pass very quickly. We changed into our school robes and both sat down with a book, exchanging idle words a few times in between turns of the page. It was remarkably easy. I thought having friends would be stressful. I'd have to work to make them, work to keep them, and all the time I was around them I'd be worried they'd leave, but Draco wasn't like that. He was just kind of... there, as if he'd been there all along, waiting for me to pick him up off the shelf.

We rode on the self propelling boats over to Hogwarts with another girl, Millicent Bulstrode was her name, I think. But she was honestly rather boring so I don't have much to say about that. The castle, though, was magnificent. It was taller, wider, bigger than any building I'd ever seen. It had an impossible number of towers and the very idea I would be living there forced shivers down my back.

Draco, too was gaping at it, but there was an undercurrent to his wonder that made me seek his gaze to unravel. When I did, I sharply looked away. He was afraid. Terrified, in fact. It hurt to hear it, the frantic screaming and mumbling occurring unmarked in his head. I could understand not wanting to be expelled, but he seemed simultaneously horrified at the possibility and sure it would occur.

I shook my head, like it would clear the memory from my mind. Draco wouldn't fail his classes. Why was he so sure he would?

Professor McGonagall was the one to escort us to the great hall. I tried to catch her attention, but she was busy so I resolved to find her later. I wasn't sure if she received my acceptance letter or if it was some other professor, so I wanted to let her know I was there.

The great hall had four tables of students who all seemed to be staring at me. I shrank further into myself before my eyes lifted to the one object in the school I was most curious about: the Sorting Hat.


	4. A Troublesome Sort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I have a chapter from the perspective of a magical item instead of a person, but it probably won't be the last. Having shifting POVs like I do can make it a bit tricky to get all the information between characters without having to rehash the same section of time over and over again or having them randomly say things to each other that seem unnatural.
> 
> In either case, the Sorting Hat's great, so I might have done it anyway.

I was created with two simple duties: one, I must sort every student, no matter what I see or hear when I am placed on their head, and two, I must never reveal what I find to anyone. I am an impartial arbiter, it is not my duty to protect the status quo or shepherd the wizarding world in one direction or another. But there were days I so wished I could intervene. I am called the Sorting Hat, and this was one of those days.

The sorting started off easily enough that year. I had almost convinced myself it would be a quiet year before I faced my first problem case. "Hermione Granger." The girl stepped forward and I was gently placed on her bushy brown hair.

I began scouring through her topmost thoughts first. "Hmm, a legilimens, huh?"

"Yes, mister..." her eyebrows furrowed. "What should I call you? Mister Hat seems odd."

It was a question I'd been asked many times before, and I always gave the same answer. "Call me whatever you wish. I have no need of a name, it is for your convenience only."

"Brimly, then." She smiled at her little joke.

I dug deeper. "Well, you certainly work hard. You wouldn't be out of place in Hufflepuff."

"I would be lying if I said the house of the loyal didn't sound appealing, Mister Brimly." She said, before her spirits fell. "But I read in Hogwarts a History that Hufflepuff is very tight-knit. If a few of them decided they didn't like me, I would be pushed out of the group entirely."

I gave a chuckle at the child's fears. "You underestimate a badger's tenacity, Miss Granger. I haven't sorted a single Hufflepuff in the last century who wouldn't include a clever girl like you." She smiled at this, but I continued. "With that, however, your cleverness could certainly land you in good stead with the Slytherins. They prize secrets as much as power, for the two are the same in the eyes of a snake."

Her pulse quickened as she stiffly whispered. "I'm not a spy or a snitch."

"But you do value secrets." I told her. "Though you value them in the same way you value all knowledge. No one would blink an eye if I placed you in Ravenclaw." I let her think of this for a moment before I continued. "But Ravenclaw would be a poor choice for you."

"What, am I not smart enough?" She bristled.

"I do not measure intelligence, Miss Granger, but personality, not just what you do where everyone can see, but the secrets kept only in your mind. You have been burdened with a terrible gift, but far from use it for your own gain you wish for the opportunity to help people with it. The only place for such a selfless wish is-" out loud I voiced with a triumphant shout. "GRYFFINDOR."

The next group of students passed by and I'd almost convinced myself she would be the hardest sorting of the year. What a fool of an old hat I was.

"Neville Longbottom." McGonagall called and the whimpering boy stepped forward, allowing me to be placed over his head.

The Granger girl's problems were a lazy luncheon liedown compared to his.

Even still, there was no denying his bravery. "GRYFFINDOR." That would certainly be an interesting house to be in that year, I could tell even then.

"Draco Malfoy." This student I thought I would be able to sort instantly. I even had Slytherin on my lips as I was lowered onto his head, but what I found there gave me pause. "Curious. Very curious."

"You must be joking." He drawled. "I'm a Slytherin. Everyone knows that."

"Ah, but your struggles have made you strong. Surely Hufflepuff would not turn down such a hard worker." The slightly revolted feeling I got from him was answer enough. "Still, your studious nature would not see you out of place in Ravenclaw."

He scoffed. "I study because I need to, to survive and fulfill my ambition, not for some overblown love of knowledge the 'Claws have."

"An ambition even you don't know?" I asked, and he grew silent. "Still, you are right. For all your knowledge, you only treasure that which you find a clear use for, and not for its own sake. You are neither selfless nor brave, so I won't even suggest Gryffindor." I told him bluntly and though I did feel his pride sting, he didn't refute it.

"Put me in Slytherin." He said, softly. "You won't regret it."

The boy's mind was already made up. It wasn't a bad choice for him, even if putting him somewhere else might have stirred something more. Intervening in that way would have broken my duty. "I suppose even an unknown ambition is an ambition and you certainly have cunning enough for-" I shouted. "SLYTHERIN."

The Malfoy boy breathed a sigh of relief as I came off his head and he went to rejoin his new housemates.

It was far too few students between him and my next problem: the infamous boy-who-lived, Harry Potter. As soon as I was placed on his head, I could tell there was an issue. "Hmm, such a shame. Albus had hoped you would be sorted into Gryffindor but there isn't a spark of bravery here at all."

"Not the most polite opening statement a magical future deciding hat could have." Harry remarked with a little smile. "Even 'hi, how are you?' Would've been something."

"Hagrid seemed sure you would go into Ravenclaw, but you're not interested in knowledge at all. There are only a few answers you crave and anything else can burn." The future of the wizarding world seemed a bit less cut and dry than Albus might have hoped for.

"You've looked in a lot of people's heads. Would you know the answers to my questions?" He asked and I had to sigh at his misaimed eagerness.

"I have sorted a great many students and seen incredible things over the years, it is true. I have even sorted the one who gave you that scar, once upon a time, but to reveal to you their secrets would violate my second duty, and that I cannot allow." If I had a head, I would have shaken it. "No bravery, no love of knowledge, and clearly no ambition at all. You content yourself with persisting and seem resigned to do so until the end of days. Well there's only one place to send someone like that..."

"Prime Minister's seat?" He suggested cheekily.

"HUFFLEPUFF." I shouted, to a great many murmurs of surprise. Harry obligingly removed the hat, handed it back to McGonaggal, and walked over to the Hufflepuff table to sit down. The stunned professor shook herself out of her stupor after a few moments and began reading off the next names.

I sorted so many students peacefully, we got through so many names I had almost accepted that my trials might have been over. There were just two students left and they should have been the easiest sortings of my career: Blaise Zabini was a textbook Slytherin with a pureblood family and a calculating stare, and how could something go wrong sorting a Weasley? They all went to Gryffindor and though some were more proper and some more pranksters, they were all of them cut from the same cloth, selfless and brave, the lot of them. I had finally managed to relax.

"Ronald Weasley."

I should've requested to be made into patches for Filch's coat.


	5. Loony and Ronny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read a lot of Peggy Sues, as mentioned before, and since the ships in those are hardly ever the canon ones I inevitably end up with a bit of Weasley Bashing, which was fine for a while but recently I've gotten more annoyed at. Like, the concept is alright, but have you ever noticed all the Weasley Bashing sounds the same? They always talk about the meeting at 9 3/4 being a setup, and love potions, and Ron being a prat, but just once I want there to be Weasley Bashing that's really out there, like some real conspiracy theory stuff.
> 
> Anyway, this isn't Weasley Bashing, this is because a lot of Ron's character traits are the same as Shounen protagonists, like the always eating and power of friendship stuff. Kinda funny no one really talks about it that way.

There were days, lying in the tall grass next to a tousled head of platinum blonde I wondered what kind of life normal people led. "I think it's gone now." Luna whispered, but the snort of breath shot vaguely in our direction rending the tops of the grass to crystal seemed to disprove her theory. My name is Ron Weasley, was being normal too much to ask?

We sat in silence for a few minutes before she spoke again. "Okay, now it's probably gone."

I shot her an unimpressed glare she simply shrugged away. "Loony, why did you think this Stocky Snufter thing was weak to water in the first place?" I whispered, knowing that even if it had moved away it was still close by.

"Stalking Snooftela." She corrected, flipping open her field journal and scribbling a few notes with her quill. "And I actually had no idea what water would do to it, that's why it's an experiment, Ronny."

I glared again, seeing if I could burn a hole through her notes with sheer force of will. "Does it ever bother you, how Ravenclaw you are?"

She gave me a sidelong glance, still writing with her quill. "You know, for someone who wants to be in Gryffindor, you sure spend a lot more time asking questions than you do challenging these ferocious monsters."

"The last time I tried fighting one, I was in Saint Mungos for a week." I cried, and the sound of the Snooftela moving closer to investigate the disturbance had Luna and I carefully crawling away.

"That was with the Dimarol, right?" She asked and I replied in the affirmative. "You could have just squeezed its flame sac, you know. That shuts them right down. Every creature-"

"Has a weakness, I know." I finished for her, rolling my eyes. "But if we knew about the flame sac at the time, you wouldn't have taken me so you could 'experiment'."

She nodded, seeming to accept my answer. "Good point." She acknowledged, and apparently the Snooftela had heard us again because the grass beside us suddenly got much shorter as one of its razor sharp scythe claws cut through it. We began to crawl a little faster.

"Where are we on the Snooftela's weakness?" I asked, foolishly allowing a hint of hope to creep into my voice.

She flipped open her journal with one hand, still crawling on her elbows. "So far? We know it's not water."

I groaned. "Bloody brilliant."

She gave a faux gasp. "Ronny. There's a lady present."

I turned to look behind us, sniping. "Ah, so you've figured out the Snooftela's a she, then?" She elbowed me in the ribs as I laughed but it was totally worth it.

"You want to try fire?" I asked, reaching for the bag clipped to my side, but she shook her head.

"I'd really rather not start a fire in the middle of dry grass." She remarked, and I conceded her point. She suggested, "it's got two horns right above its nose, we could try pulling on those."

I nixed that idea, right quick. "Whatever it's breathing is not good for these plants and I don't want to show up at the burrow encased in crystal."

"This would probably be easier if we had wands." She remarked, idly.

"Ya think?" I whispered, harshly. It was something of a private joke between us that we really should have waited to try some of Luna's more dangerous theories until we had some kind of protection, an idea which Luna always responded to with-

"Knowledge waits for no magical." She yelled, pointing a finger up at the sky.

The slash of claws where she had been crawling right before I shoved her out of the way showed she probably shouldn't have been shouting. "Well it can definitely hear us." I pointed out once we regrouped. "Are its ears sensitive?"

Luna shrugged, an odd action when crawling. "Let's find out." I handed her the pot and pan from my bag and she stood up and started banging on them, creating a predictable racket. However, instead of running or cowering from the noise, it ran toward it, nearly slicing Luna in half if I hadn't pulled her down. Luna noted the failed experiment in her notebook as we began crawling again so it wouldn't hit us as it destroyed the area of grass we were just in.

"Why are you dragging the pan with us?" She whispered, more curious than concerned despite the visibly dangerous creature.

"I can't keep losing pans, Loony. My mum almost noticed when this one went missing." I explained, wincing as the metal object came into contact with a sharp stone jutting from the ground, creating a grating sound. I only just managed to bring it to bear in front of me as a razor claw clanged into it.

Luna laughed, dodging out of the way of its second claw. "Ronny, can you give me the bat? I just figured something out."

I reached into the expanded pouch and withdrew a wooden bat my dad had collected as part of his muggle research, throwing it to the insane blonde as I blocked another claw strike with the back of the pan.

She jumped toward the creature, startling it to take back a step before she brought the bat down with all her might on one of its back hooves. With a sickening crack, the creature screamed, limping away from us as quickly as it could. She walked over and helped me to my feet, handing he bat back to me. "I was wondering how it moved so quickly when I thought it could have hollow bones. Obviously its front claw bones were reinforced for catching prey, but its back hoof bones would have to be light enough for quick springs forward. That also explains how it was so hard to hear." She began writing all this in her notebook, as she explained it to me and I simply nodded along, taking note of the weakness for later. It was still a bit crazy to me, how Luna figured out these weaknesses every time, but I was glad for her ability. Sometimes I wished I could figure it out, too, at least so I could help her out more on these hunts, but she was way smarter than I was. She was a shoe in for Ravenclaw and I... wasn't.

"Can we get something to eat now?" I asked as we gathered up the other discarded items from the hunt and stuffed them back in the bag. "I'm starving."

She agreed easily and we walked the short distance to the Rookery, greeting Xeno and grabbing a few fruits and crackers to eat in her room.

She made a few last notes in her field journal and set it on the shelf with the others: four volumes in all. "I've been tracking the Bola Python and I think I've finally found its feeding ground; if you're free tomorrow we can find its weakness."

"We're going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get my school supplies." I said through a mouthful of plum and immediately regretted it.

Luna stiffened, then forced herself to look more relaxed. "Right. You're going to Hogwarts soon." She said, her voice tight.

I swallowed the plum before I said. "You're only a year behind me. You'll be coming in next year with Ginny and I'll still see you over the summer."

"I know." She answered back, hollowly.

We were treading old ground by that point. I already knew Luna didn't want to be upset almost as much as I didn't want her to be upset and she hated how it still bothered her despite all the accepted logic.

"I'll write you letters." I offered.

She only laughed. "You've never willingly written a letter in your life, Ronny."

She was right, of course, but I bristled anyway. "I could write a letter if I wanted to."

The conversation devolved into a pointless but friendly argument about whether or not I really could write a letter, even if I wanted to, and that day faded into so many other days like it.

Diagon Alley was brilliant, as always, but it was an odd feeling to finally be there shopping for myself and not for any of my siblings.

I tried to spend as much time with Luna as possible before I had to go, but my family wanted to see me too and not all of them were going to Hogwarts with me.

It had been a few days since our last hunt when I saw Luna at the train station. She shoved a parcel into my hands, hugging me for a few moments before pulling away and wiping her eyes. "I know you won't write me, but at least this way we'll have a head start when I get there."

Before I could open it, my mum ushered me onto the train and I saw Luna mouthing goodbye through the window as it began to pull away. I chose a random compartment and peeked in to see someone already sitting there. "Excuse me, do you mind? Everywhere else is full." I wasn't sure that was true, but since I was one of the last people to board it probably was, near enough.

"No. Not at all." The black haired boy said with a smile and I sat down on the seat across from him, ignoring him for the moment to tear open the parcel Luna gave me. What I saw was terribly familiar, but also different. It was a leatherbound book, filled with empty white pages and on the cover instead of the familiar moon was a shining sun, moving ever so slightly in the enchanted way I never figured out how Luna could manage. The only words included were on the first page, scrawled in big letters in Luna's erratic hand the words, 'WRITE IN ME.' I smiled down at the gift and the reference to that muggle book she loved so much.

It was my very own field journal. Suddenly what she meant by a head start became clear. I rolled my eyes at the crazy girl. She expected me to take notes of all the super dangerous creatures in and around Hogwarts, and would I? My fingers traced around the moving sun on the front cover before sighing. Luna was going to get me killed one of those days, I could tell that for sure.

"It's from a friend of mine." I explained to the black haired boy's curious expression. "She's a year younger than me so I won't be able to see her for a while."

He nodded in understanding. "At least you'll see her next year." He offered.

I wrenched my eyes away from the book to look at him. "Yeah, it's not a big deal." I lied, then remembered my manners and extended an arm. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley."

He took it. "I'm Harry Potter."

I dropped the hand. "Blimey, really? Is it true, then? You've got the..." I trailed off, gesturing to my forehead.

He raised an eyebrow. "My scar?" I nodded and he pulled his hair away to reveal the curious lightning bolt shape.

"Does it ever hurt?" I asked and before I knew it I was flipping open the journal with one hand in that same way I'd seen Luna do over and over again.

He shrugged. "Scars generally don't hurt for no reason."

"But it's a magic scar." I pointed out. "It's the mark of the darkest curse there is, I don't know what kind of rules there are for it."

"What kind of curse?" He asked, seeming intrigued. 

But I gave an 'eh' sound in response. "We'll probably learn about it when we get there. My brothers say there's an entire class on defense against the dark arts."

I asked him a few more questions about his scar and received frankly unhelpful answers before that devolved in idle chitchat and I started sketching his scar. It wasn't anywhere near as good as Luna's would have been and it took far too long but I needed to start somewhere and at least it gave me something to do. It wasn't like I would crack open one of my textbooks, Merlin, I hoped I'd never get that bored.

Professor McGonagall talked about the houses and Dumbledore talked about the Forbidden Forest and the 'Forbidden as long as you don't want to die' third floor corridor both of which I instantly knew Luna would bug me to no end if I didn't investigate. We arranged in the Great Hall, I waved hello to my brothers, and I waited as the sorting hat started its slow process of announcing each student's place, and boy was it slow that year. I heard from Fred and George later that it was the longest they'd ever sat through and by the time my name was called they were contemplating future pranks and flat out ignoring the announcements.

When the hat landed on my head I thought it was all but certain where I'd go, but apparently the Hat disagreed. "Troublesome Weasley, what am I going to do with you?"

"Gryffindor?" I supplied, cringing a bit at the clothing's tone.

The hat barked a laugh. "Gryffindor, eh? An amusing thought, but while I do detect some sparks of bravery, you lack a selfless spirit. No, I'm afraid your selfishness would not land you in good stead among the lions."

"I didn't want to abandon Luna." I protested. "I didn't have a choice."

"Ah but it is your attachment to the Lovegood girl as well as your family that represents the only thoughts you have for anyone besides yourself. Such loyalty would be greatly appreciated in Hufflepuff, but you like working hard almost as little as the amount of ambition you have." I bit my lip. Could a student get rejected from Hogwarts for not getting into a house? I didn't think it'd ever happened before, but there was a first time for everything? Oh, blimey, I thought, what am I gonna tell my mum and dad?

"In your mind, you've retained every fact you've heard on quidditch and chess, as well as all the magical animals your hunts with the Lovegood girl have turned up, despite the fact all this information has zero practical use." If the hat could sneer, I was sure it would have. "Your mind is so cluttered with junk, can you tell me for what possible reason you remember the last twelve scores the Chudley Cannons received when the end result was completely the same?"

I was about to argue that the Cannons actually had a shot that year when the hat interrupted. "Never mind. I'd rather not know. Someone who has kept so much knowledge just for the sake of it only belongs in-" I winced as he shouted right above me. "RAVENCLAW."

Numbly, I stepped off the stool as the hat was whisked off my head and walked over to the Ravenclaw table, sitting down with a thunk. My head was abuzz with 'at least I didn't get kicked out,' and 'the hat must have made a mistake,' and 'I'm not smart enough for Ravenclaw.' But in the end it didn't matter. The sorting hat's decision was final and I was a Ravenclaw. I looked down at my silver and blue robes and felt a little sick.

I wish I could say that was the moment my life really went off the rails, but honestly I'm just getting started. That day, I stuffed my face and met a few of my housemates, ninety percent of which were stuck up prats, if you ask me. Things only started to get really screwy in Transfiguration class the next day, the first time I met Hermione Granger.


	6. Meeting Your Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry might be Sherlock Holmes, but Hermione and Draco are definitely Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys

There was not a single person more obviously unsuited to Ravenclaw. While his housemates were upright and proper, his hair was messy, robes in disarray, and he had apparently forgotten his tie. When Professor McGonagall transfigured one for him from a matchbox, he wore it in the loosest fashion I'd ever seen. I couldn't hear him, since he never looked into my eyes, but his expression was so vacant while Professor McGonagall was discussing transfiguration theory, I legitimately wondered if he could grasp any of it.

She set the matches in front of us at the end of the lesson and told us to turn them into needles. I kept meeting her gaze, gleaning more and more transfiguration information each time on optimal pronunciation and wand movements and, though I couldn't quite manage the needle I did have a metal and slightly pointed match by the end of it. "Hermione Granger." The Professor addressed me, and gestured to the back. "Could you please assist Mister Weasley with his wand movement. I fear he'll take someone's eye out if he continues with his present pace."

I walked over and, far from being thankful for my assistance, he had the temerity to glare at me. "I can get it." I heard, when his gaze met mine. "I know I can do this on my own."

I broke the connection, closing my eyes so he couldn't see me roll them. He had the words about right, though he was clearly putting the accent in the wrong place if the words leaving his lips were anything to go by, but his wand movements were more like swinging a baton than anything Transfiguration related. It was particularly strange because wand movements were really quite straightforward: Transfiguration used swipes and slashes, Charms used flicks and swishes, and offensive and defensive spells like the kind used in Defense Against the Dark Arts used jabs and flourishes. Combination schools used a mix of the schools that made it up's movements, obviously, so Conjuration used some measure of swipes or slashes in conjunction with flicks or swishes. Honestly, it was so simple.

"You're holding the wand wrong." I told him bluntly. "You're choking up on it and there's no way you can squeeze out enough power like that. Place the back end into the middle of your palm and hold it lightly with your fingers. You want the magic to flow through it, you're not trying to shove it through. For this spell, you need a horizontal swiping motion, and you'll want to say the word when your wand has swiped directly over it, but be sure to complete the arc. Your pron-"

"Who the bloody hell are you?" He asked in visible disbelief, and the background chatter of the room stopped.

I stepped backward, folding my arms over my chest. "I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm trying to help you."

Professor McGonagall swept forward, eyes narrowed at the redheaded boy. "Detention, Mister Weasley. With me, after your lessons are finished."

He scowled, roughly stuffing his books into his bag and stomping out of class. I sighed as he left, knowing already he would be a problem I'd have to face sooner or later. People like him could never leave me well enough alone, and there were always people like him.

"I apologize for that, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall said as the students began packing their bags to move onto the next class. "Next time I will deal with Mister Weasley, myself." She moved away, and I couldn't help looking at his matchstick. It was wooden, not even slightly discolored, and my lips pursed at his failure. The other students moved past me as I picked it up, raising an eyebrow at its surprising weight. I dug a fingernail in and dragged it down, shaving the thin layer of wood to reveal the firm metal core beneath. I dropped it on the table with a clink and, without thinking, picked it up again and dug a furrow into the table with the metal matchstick, or at least, I would have if the matchstick hadn't uncovered metal right beneath a thin wooden exterior. My eyes widened at what I saw.

I ran over to another desk, picking up the discolored matchstick and easily snapping it in half. Two more matchsticks fell the same way before I returned to the Weasley's and tried the same. No matter how hard I tried, it didn't even bend. There were two possibilities I could think of, two explanations: the first was that someone, a teacher perhaps, had come to this room before class and transfigured only Weasley's desk into metal, as well as a random matchstick that Professor McGonagall happened to place there without noticing any difference in weight, the second explanation was that despite imprecise aiming and poor pronunciation, Weasley still had enough power to blast most of the match into metal as well as a large portion of his desk. One was unlikely, the other terrifying. I dropped the metal match and scurried out the door with my bag in hand.

I needed to tell Draco about it, but I wouldn't see him until after lunch in Potions, once the Gryffindor's Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs had ended. At least I wouldn't have to share another class with the Ravenclaws just yet, with the rotating house schedules I'd have Defense with them the next day, but that was still plenty of time where I could force them from my mind.

Looking down at my stopwatch, which I'd started once class had ended by force of habit, I groaned as I realized I had spent far too much time investigating and began a swift jog to my next class, hoping the corridors and stairways wouldn't change too much.

I managed to slip into Defense just in time, sitting next to a clearly uncomfortable Harry Potter. To be clear, he wasn't uncomfortable because of me, he was making a face already when I entered the room which was probably why no one had sat next to him to begin with. He kept rubbing his scar and it was honestly a bit distracting. I resolved to try not to sit next to him in the future and paid attention to the Professor. Professor Quirrel had a good grasp of the theory, which he conveyed adequately despite his stutter, but I worried at his effectiveness for teaching any practical spells. He looked a bit faint from time to time and frightened, also. Beyond his flowing purple robes and turban, he also wore a thick bandage over one hand, like he'd injured it recently. I might have gleaned how if I ever met his eyes but he seemed determined not to look at anyone in the class at all. Just too frightened, I supposed.

The class ended before I knew it and the two houses shuffled out for lunch, with me hoping I could catch Draco before Potions.

As it turned out, however, it was more like Draco catching me, and pulling me into an empty classroom shortly after. When the door was shut, he whirled to face me and said. "We need to talk about Potter."

I answered back with. "We need to talk about Weasley." He nodded, gesturing for me to continue. "He was awful in Transfiguration. He wasn't incanting right and his wand waving was everywhere."

Draco shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not really surprised. The Weasleys were never exactly schoolwork prodigies, from what I know."

"But here's the thing." I said, holding up a finger. "Wand movements, words, pronunciation, is all there to put power and focus into a spell, right? Well after class, when everyone had left, I found out he had turned the inside of the match completely metal as well as a huge chunk of his desk."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "So if he actually cast the spell correctly..."

I nodded. "Even if he had a bit more focus I'm positive he could have done it."

Draco groaned. "A Weasley that's a magical powerhouse, of course." He gave a bitter laugh; I could tell from his expression there was no humor behind it. "I don't know why I'm even surprised anymore."

"You mentioned Potter?" I tried to redirect the conversation since Draco looked genuinely upset.

He nodded, shaking himself from his mood. "The Slytherins had herbology with the 'Puffs as our first class, and something odd happened: we were working in the dirt..." he made a face at the thought, and I heard when he looked at me. "Maybe I should take another shower." Before he continued speaking. "Apparently Professor Sprout doesn't believe much in working on theory to start."

"Something odd?" I prodded him, a little impatiently.

"One of the 'Puffs, Macmillan or something like that, accidentally stabbed him in the hand with a sharp trowel." He revealed.

I gave a gasp at the thought. "Well no wonder he looked so uncomfortable in Defense. Did Professor Sprout take him to the nurse?"

Draco smiled, deviously. "There wasn't any need. I saw when Macmillan pulled away that Potter's hand was perfectly fine, and I saw it strike, Macmillan wasn't weak and he wasn't holding back against the ground, he just missed."

My eyebrows furrowed. "So you think Potter is... what? Invincible?"

He clapped his hands together. "Think about it. That explains why the Dark Lord couldn't kill him. People have been guessing for a decade and we finally have the answer right in front of us."

I shook my head. "But how? I haven't read about any spell that makes you invincible, and certainly none that would last this long. For that matter, why would he keep this a secret? People should be studying him for the answer to immortality."

Draco grimaced at the thought. "And live the rest of his life being prodded in the Department of Mysteries before his immortality becomes commonplace? If you had a rare gift, would you advertise it and allow yourself to be experimented on to find out the cause?"

I broke his gaze, his thoughts going quiet to me once again. "I suppose not."

"Besides." He continued. "I talked with Potter on the train and apparently he grew up with muggles. If they knew about magic but not what it could do they would probably just assume that was normal for the wizarding world." He laughed. "Probably gave them quite the fright when that halfbreed groundskeeper showed up at their door." I raised an eyebrow, taking a step back and crossing my arms over my chest. After a few moments, Draco stopped laughing. "What?"

"Halfbreed?" I asked, skeptically.

Draco looked confused. "He was escorting the first years? You can't say you didn't see him." I kept staring at him, frowning. "What?"

"He has a name, Draco, and I doubt he'd appreciate being called a halfbreed." I lectured, before an idea popped into my head. "You know what? Let's go meet him, right now."

Draco seemed hesitant, and a look into his eyes brought back that same shower thought from before. So dealing with 'lesser races' was somehow unclean, hmm? It was time to test what Brimly had seen in me. I grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him out the door, navigating outside. He didn't resist, but he clearly wasn't happy with the situation.

We came across an octagonal shack and knocked on the large wooden door. After a few moments it opened, and the towering frame of the groundskeeper came into view. "'Ello, you two. Any problem I can help with?"

I shook my head, finally releasing Draco, and smiling at the friendly seeming man. "No problem, we actually just came to visit, if you don't mind."

He smiled, and waved us in. "Not at all, just put on a pot of tea, in fact."

I forced Draco to walk in before me, and I rolled my eyes at his expression. Anyone'd guess he was on his way to the gallows by the way he looked. "I'm Hermione Granger." I said once we were all inside and I held out a hand. "I can't hear, so if I sound a little odd or can't understand something, that's why." In truth, with his thick beard it was difficult to get a proper read on anything he was saying but he held good eye contact so I could hear him most of the time.

"Rubeus Hagrid." He said, taking the hand and shaking it vigorously. Then he turned to Draco expectantly, who after a few seconds of indecision eventually decided to hold out his hand, which Hagrid also shook.

"Draco Malfoy." He introduced, and Hagrid raised an eyebrow, his posture becoming more guarded.

"You know, I went to school with yer mum and da'." He said, or at least I thought that was what he said, I've never been stellar at reading lips through beards and he wasn't making eye contact with me anymore so I couldn't hear his thoughts.

"Small world." Draco said through a grit teethed smile.

Giving a swift change of subject, I asked Hagrid. "So you've already gone through Hogwarts? How was it? I don't really know what to expect."

Hagrid smiled, his eyes unfocusing as he remembered. "Hogwarts is a special place. I went traveling for a while, been all 'round the world, and I'll tell you there ain't another place quite like it. I'm a big man, and I was when I were younger, too, but this castle was always bigger. Bigger than it seems, too, for all the nooks and crannies it has, there are rooms I don't think anyone's been in since the founders built the place."

My head whipped to Draco, who had started to say something I caught the end of. "...third floor corridor?"

Hagrid gave a little chuckle at the question. "Not normally, no. Third floor's usually where we keep the old dueling stages and such. It's just this year Dumbledore's using it for-" he stopped himself. "Shouldn'ta said that."

Apparently, the tea water boiled because Draco and Hagrid turned to face it, and Hagrid took it off the fire, preparing a pot.

I filed the information away for the moment, and changed the subject again. "Harry," I had decided to use his first name in this context, even though I doubted I'd really earned the right, "mentioned that you were the one to visit him and his relatives." I didn't say he mentioned it to Draco and not me, but that wasn't really relevant in this case.

He nodded, turning back to look at me so I could hear him again. "Oh, yeah. Right piece of work, that lot. Came at me with one of them muggle firearms, 'e did. Almost hit Harry."

Draco and I exchanged glances and I knew he was thinking the same thing. "Almost?" I asked.

Hagrid began pouring the tea into cups and giving one to each of us. "Shot right at 'em, but I'd already bent it so I guess the bullet didn't go through. Don't quite know how it works, exactly. I've seen plenty of 'em used, but I'm hardly an expert."

It wasn't that I distrusted Draco before, I was just a bit skeptical. Here, though, unless all of this was entirely coincidental, there did seem to be a pattern.

I took a teacake Hagrid offered me as he continued, well, it might have been a teacake but it also could have been a rock as there was no difference in texture or thickness. "Right mess those muggles were. Island out in the middle o' nowhere, not telling Harry anything about his parents. I know Dumbledore's got his reasons for puttin' 'im there, but it didn't seem like a great bunch to be carin' for ya, if ya ask me." He seemed to perk up a bit after a moment. "Still, turned out alright, though Hufflepuff's a bit of a surprise. Thought he'd be Gryffindor or Ravenclaw failing that."

"Ravenclaw?" It was Draco who asked that time after I angled myself so I could read both their lips if necessary.

He nodded, biting into one of the cakes with a scraping sound that sent vibrations through my bones, forcing Draco and me to wince. "Oh yeah. When Dumbledore sent me to help him get to Diagon Alley, I assumed Harry knew all about Hogwarts and the wizarding world, but even though those muggles lied to him, he went off on all this logic he apparently got just from looking at his Hogwarts letter."

"A regular Sherlock Holmes, then?" I asked, semi-rhetorically. "I wonder why he was put into Hufflepuff, then, and why Weasley made it to Ravenclaw."

I looked up to see two sets of eyes blinking at me, confusedly. "Who's Sherlock Holmes?" Draco asked, and I gave a sigh. Wizards.

We visited with Hagrid for a bit longer before Draco realized the time and we went running back inside so we could make it in time for Potions. Bolstered by new information, and new questions, regarding Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, I was in no way prepared for what happened next: my first meeting with Professor Snape.


	7. Strange Professors Lying in Dungeons Poisoning Students is no Basis for a System of Schooling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape is really the kind of character you either love or hate, most of the time, and depending on the author's opinion, his characterization in fics can change drastically. Sometimes, he's a foul-mouthed angry little man that can be the target of a verbal smackdown by one or more characters, other times he's a misunderstood woobie or eccentric genius, and there's a lot of in between.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure where this one falls... let me know if you have an opinion.

I was on my second calming draught of the day. That was what it was shaping up to be, already. The sorting ceremony held its fair share of surprises, but it was one of the expected placements that really had me worried. My godson, Draco, son of the marked and unrepentant Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, was sorted into Slytherin. This was fine, no one even considered he might go anywhere else, except, apparently, the Sorting Hat. If it wasn't created directly by the founders, I would be worried it was going on the fritz, sorting a Weasley into Ravenclaw and a Potter into Hufflepuff, it was absurd. But when the hat was placed on Draco's head, I saw on its face, indistinguishable unless you had watched it sort every year for Merlin knew how many, I saw surprise and indecision. Draco had been placed in Slytherin, yes, but not immediately. There was a back and forth, Draco had to convince it to put him there.

Unfortunately, this was only one red flag of many. There's no objective way to measure magical power, but it doesn't take much to get a sense where a wizard is at any point, and being a teacher and a duelist I had picked up that kind of sense. Draco, for all his effort, barely registered to me as a wizard, and despite Lucius being certain he had finally grown into his power, I could still barely detect the presence of magic around him. So how did he create such a gash across his father's back? I saw it myself, as I healed it, and while it wasn't deep it was credible enough to distract a foe, if not take him out of combat entirely. I knew he was hiding something, but at that time I had no way of determining how. Even my legilimency required a direct cast, not just meeting my gaze, so I couldn't take his secrets that way, though that subject was odd in itself. I could have sworn, during the feast, something brushed against my occlumency barriers from time to time as I looked around the students. A couple of the older Slytherins doing some 'extracurricular reading', perhaps? I would have to follow it up.

Ah, but this lead back to the other two exceptionally odd sortings: the Potter and the Weasley, and oh I knew already those two would drain away what little patience I had acquired for the year. The Potter brat swaggered everywhere like an untouchable lord and any lingering hope I might have had that he had taken Lily's temperament was dashed. Despite the fact he was in Hufflepuff, he seemed to have made no friends and showed no clear desire he wanted that to change. The Ravenclaw Weasley on the other hand seemed actively opposed to fraternizing with his group and disliked Gryffindor simply for not choosing him and Slytherin as part of the tired Weasley bias. According to Pomona, he had also skived off Herbology after storming out at the end of Minerva's class.

I rubbed my forehead, considering a third calming draught. I wish I was less connected to the teacher's gossiping habit, but as a Slytherin and a spy, not eavesdropping was extremely difficult to do.

I sighed and stood up from my seat at the teacher's table and pushed my plate away for the elves to handle. Draco had also chosen not to attend lunch, for reasons I couldn't begin to guess. I paused before leaving, though, as Minerva mentioned Hermione Granger also not in attendance. I shook my head in disappointment. Fighting with muggleborns in the halls was below him, no matter how honorable I was sure he'd find it. I left for my classroom to prepare for the first Slytherin and Gryffindor class of the year, always its own trial by itself. I only hoped Draco or the muggleborn girl were not in the medical ward or detention so they could actually arrive at my class on time. As students began filing in, and I saw neither it would seem my hopes were failing.

The two bursting in three minutes after class began did raise my eyebrow, however. "Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, Potions is a delicate process that involves timing down to the second, and as such should be respected with maximum punctuality." I said, freezing the heavily breathing children. "Tell me what you were doing that you found more important than this ancient and powerful craft."

The Granger girl seemed about to speak, but a nudge from Draco stopped her. "We're sorry, Professor Snape. It won't happen again."

I raised an eyebrow. Curious. "See that it doesn't. Take a seat, both of you." I turned to begin writing on the board and added. "Five points from Gryffindor for tardiness."

I smiled as I could hear her begin to protest, before suddenly silencing herself. Now this had become truly interesting. How was it Draco had managed a muggleborn under his thumb, and where were the Crabbe and Goyle boys I was sure his father had provided for him? Draco and the muggleborn partnered up, and it was clear very early on that they were a leg up on the rest of the class. Even the other Slytherin students weren't as exact, didn't pay as much attention to the recipe. I credited my tutoring of Draco, but he wasn't perfect, and the muggleborn corrected him a few times. Miracle of miracles, I actually saw Draco take her advice. Would wonders never cease?

I looked down at their potion, the pair watching me, waiting my judgement. This was my favorite part of teaching, I'm not ashamed to say. Students will fail to learn, they will disappoint, even the esteem will fade but the power doesn't go away, for a long while after my students will remember me. The Longbottom boy might never be able to forget. "Acceptable." I say, and move away without further comment. Once again, I hear the beginning of the Granger girl's protest cut short after only a moment, and a look behind me confirmed Draco as the cause. Detention, I thought, would be the best way to discover more on this strange phenomenon. It was a shame Granger seemed so keen on following the rules, manufacturing reasons was always more troublesome.

I graded the rest of the potions, assigned work because I felt like being malicious, and dismissed the class so I had a few minutes to prepare for the next one, and one I was dreading indeed. This would be my first time teaching the Potter brat, and he seemed far more likely to land a detention with me than my godson's new toy.

The students entered, and I gave my standard opening, staring at Potter the whole time who had apparently decided to stare back at me rather than even pretend to take notes. "Mister Potter, tell me, have you forgotten your quill and parchment today or do you just like wasting my time."

"Sir?" He asked in faux-innocence.

I moved forward to tower over him. "Potions is a specific art and I am not in the habit of repeating myself. If you do not take notes you endanger your fellow students. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Sir." He said with an arrogant smile.

"Parch-ment." I clearly enunciated. "Quill. Now."

He dug into his bag and slowly withdrew the required items before setting them onto his desk and looking back at me.

"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" I asked, and his smile widened, like he found the question funny.

"I don't know, Sir." And the way he said it felt like more of a disrespect than if he had just called me 'Snivelus' outright.

"Where, Mister Potter, would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?" I tried again, and he grinned at me, giving a shrug.

"I don't know, Sir." I realized I hated him, and it hadn't even been ten minutes. What had James created?

I decided to change tactics, addressing the room as a whole. "Harry Potter, our newest clueless celebrity since that Teen Witch Weekly covergirl decided to attend, has just been poisoned." I pointed a finger at Potter, who looked only amused. "Does anyone know where to find a bezoar to cure him?"

A few tentative hands raised in the air, and I picked one student who was endeavoring to meld into his desk. "Mister Macmillan. Professor Sprout told me you've already made one attempt on Mister Potter's life today, would you care to foil this one?" After he failed to respond for a few moments, I brushed by. "It seems Mister Macmillan is content to watch Potter die. Who else feels the same way?" I whirled around and jabbed a finger at a Ravenclaw student in the first row. "Some poisons activate in seconds. Tell me quickly, where is the bezoar to save Mister Potter's life?"

"T-the stomach of a goat." She stuttered out after a moment and I sneered in response.

"Unless you are hiding a goat underneath your robes, Mister Potter will be dead before you can find one." I addressed the class at large. "Hufflepuffs that would watch their housemate's die? Ravenclaws who can't answer a simple question on the first day? What sort of class have I been saddled with this year?" I walked slowly toward the desk of James' spawn and glared down at him. "Or perhaps they would help as long as it wasn't you?" I moved to the back of the room, and slammed a textbook down on a desk there. "Now that Mister Potter is dead, the killer strikes again, poisoning Mister Weasley this time. Is anyone keen on saving him, perhaps?" I pointed at one of the Hufflepuffs who'd raised their hands. "Miss Bones, behind my desk are specimen jars containing a great many potion ingredients. Find and identify a bezoar to save Mister Weasley's life. You have one minute." I raised my wand and cast a silent tempus, watching the clock count down.

The red haired 'Puff scrambled out of her chair to dig among my potions trying to find the right one. The girls' mother was a career auror and current head of the DMLE. I had confidence she'd at least seen a bezoar before. Amelia was hardly the type to keep one under her pillow, but that wasn't to say there weren't any in the house. After thirty-two seconds, she returned with a flushed face and a glass jar with a single green pellet. I picked up the jar and moved to the front of the class, showing it to everyone. "This is a bezoar, an ingredient harvested from the stomach of a goat, with the ability to neutralize most poisons. It can be concentrated in a variety of potions to remove ill effects certain ingredients might contain. Five points to Hufflepuff for apparently being more motivated to save Mister Weasley, than Mister Potter."

The Bones girl sat down, apparently caught between being happy she got points and being indignant at the reason. Eventually, she decided to just be happy and a few of her housemates gave her a pat on the back for actually getting points from 'The Professor Snape.' The other teachers simply did not understand the power the point system held. It was not simply a reward for the studious or a corral for the unruly, they held no real power for individuals at all; it was their ability to create social pressure that truly made them shine and I intended to use them to their full potential.

I began to write instructions on the board. "Now that we've found the cure, let's take a look at the poison: adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood in this preparation gets the draught of living death, a potion capable of giving the person who ingests it the appearance of someone no longer living until such a time as an antidote is administered or they perish, themselves. You have one hour to prove to me you are capable of handling knives and poisonous ingredients or I will reduce you to chewing ingredients to their proper size and I assure you any errors in which are poisonous now will be much more harmful in that event." I cast another silent tempus, flipping it around so the whole class could see. "One hour."

The students scrambled to begin, and I sat for a few minutes, watching them until my eyes finally landed on Potter once again, preparing his potion in the same slipshod manner I had expected. I looked around for any promising students and marked Miss Bones as a possible candidate, but every other student had already fallen into the same traps I'd seen so many times before. The Ravenclaws had their noses stuffed so far into their books they couldn't watch the potion and the Hufflepuffs had the opposite problem, paying such attention to the ingredients they were cutting and the fire they were managing that they seemed to forget they had a book at all. Weasley stood out as an exception, but only insofar as he seemed not to notice what he was preparing or what was in his textbook. It was a wonder why the Sorting Hat had placed him in Ravenclaw where he clearly didn't belong.

Potter clearly had no skill for Potions, but beyond that he lacked any kind of caring for it as well. He could have made the best potion in class or the worst and I could tell he would have felt exactly the same for it. He didn't hate Potions, and he didn't hate me, he just... didn't care. That made me the angriest, that any son of Lily's could feel so little about anything made me sick. I hadn't planned it, but I was resolved at that moment, judging his potion as completely average because he wouldn't feel anything by me ruining his grade anyway, what I would do with Harry Potter: I would do everything in my power to torment him until I buried him or he finally felt something. Coal needed pressure to turn to diamonds, after all. Maybe there was a bit of Lily in him somewhere other than his eyes.

I dismissed the students and cleaned the board with a flick of my wand, busying myself by undoing the mess Miss Bones had made of my ingredients with her ransacking. As the classroom emptied, I couldn't help but notice a rather nervous looking redhead approach. "Yes, Mister Weasley? Come to try your luck now that you've had your poison neutralized once?"

He winced at the appropriate venom in my tone, but determination flashed across his face and he voiced. "Dimarols, Sir."

I raised an eyebrow and slowly turned to face him. "Excuse me?" I asked and for some reason he seemed bolstered by the question.

"You said that bezoars could be harvested from the stomach of a goat, but you can also get them from Dimarols. They hack them up like furballs, you see. It's a good thing they do, too, because one time Luna and I were-" he seemed to be getting excited so I cut him off, decisively.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, Mister Weasley, for telling lies to a teacher." He visibly deflated.

"It's not a lie. We compared the goat bezoars with the Dimarol bezoars and we couldn't find a difference." He tried to protest, but I put a stop to that as well.

"Then it is detention, since you insist on continuing." Maybe I would still be able to get some insight on the Hat's thinking this year. At least Weasley was finally starting to sound like a know it all Ravenclaw.

His expression darkened, and he mumbled. "I already have detention with McGonagall today."

"Professor McGonagall." I corrected with a sneer. "Five points from Ravenclaw for disrespecting a teacher. If that is the case, you will serve your detention with me tomorrow. Who knows? I might have a few more to assist you by then."

He glowered down at the ground, and grabbed his bag before leaving, muttering to himself. Ah, teaching sure was unique.

I was about to check in on how my Slytherins were doing when I heard shouting voices not far outside my classroom. I swept out with a brisk step and came across Draco and Granger with the recently dismissed Weasley, all pointing wands at each other. "Lower your wands, all of you." Reluctantly, the trio agreed. "A group of first years drawing wands, I never thought I'd live to see such stupidity. Tell me, what curses exactly were you intending on performing with one days of classes under your belts?" Draco I knew actually had some spells he could use in a duel but at least he faked being cowed along with the other two. "I thought as much." I said when there was no answer. "Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger, you will accompany Mister Weasley and I for detention tomorrow night. Am I clear?"

The Granger girl stared back at me, defiantly, and I felt a curious shove on my occlumency barriers. A nudge from Draco finally made her relent. "We understand, Professor Snape." Draco assured me, and I swept past the group, immensely satisfied by how things had turned out. It seemed that day like everything was turning up Snape. All it took was the slight vibrating feeling up my arm, signaling my alerting charm for the third floor corridor, to spoil my mood.

What kind of lunatic would try exploring the explicitly forbidden corridor on the first day?


	8. A First Class Flyer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being invincible (at least, as far as he can tell) Harry's priorities always end up seeming different than everyone else's which can make some interactions with other people hard. I like when the abilities people have produce a noticeable effect on their personality, so you'll probably see something like that a few times as the characters get fleshed out more.

Answers were not forthcoming. My first real lead was from Draco Malfoy in the robe shop, but even though I did find a book that mentioned these elusive 'unforgivable curses' it was something called an 'auror manual' in the restricted section, and I didn't have a good reason to tell the teachers why I wanted it just yet. I moved my hand under Ernie Macmillan's trowel during Herbology to test if my invulnerability was affected by being here and apparently it wasn't, which was good. I would have hated having to actually worry about getting hurt like everyone else. Something odd in Defense Against the Dark Arts, however, my scar actually hurt the entire time. Since this was something Ron Weasley had suggested might happen on the train ride, I would have to follow up with him as to why.

Beyond that, the classes were fine. I had secretly hoped I would be some kind of magical prodigy, but apparently that was not in the cards for me. For someone who hadn't even cracked a textbook before class, I think I did pretty well, all things considered. Though, one teacher seems to have a particular dislike of me, for reasons I don't know. Is it related to my invulnerability and scar? Will need to investigate. Still, it was rather funny when I was 'poisoned' and 'died'. If he tried a more real life example of that I'm sure he'd be very disappointed.

Still, though I lacked answers, questions were something I had in abundance, so it wasn't like I was kept idle. Today, since Ron Weasley was busy in detention and I wanted to do some outside research before I confronted Professor Snape, I was investigating the third floor corridor, the forbidden one, of course. Honestly, I wasn't that impressed. Dust, cobwebs, it was a magic school, don't tell me it was only forbidden so students wouldn't get tetanus. I came across a locked door and considered it for a moment, wishing I knew some kind of unlocking charm. After a few moments, I decided to use that needle transfiguration to whip up a few lockpicks. After several minutes, I had a few metal objects slightly worse than a bobby pin and considered that good enough, setting to my task of picking the lock.

It wasn't my first time picking locks, by a longshot, but this was definitely an older lock and the picks were substandard so it took what felt like an eternity. Finally, the lock came open and I entered the wide circular room, meeting three pairs of eyes attached to a monstrous dog. "Huh." Was all I had time to say before the hound was upon me. I walked out a few minutes later, lamenting the dog drool smell that now covered me and the loss of my robe. Sometime around when the two heads on the sides decided to take me in their teeth and tear me apart, I could see a trapdoor under me so it seemed the pet wasn't there just for decoration. But what was it guarding? Another piece of the puzzle, perhaps? In any case, I would need to find a way to subdue or destroy the beast to pass, but I had frankly no idea who to call about that.

"Mister Potter." Professor Snape's growling voice came from behind me and I turned to see the black cloaked teacher. "This corridor is forbidden for reasons I'm sure you can see." He gestured to my ruined clothes with his wand and the rips and tears sealed themselves. "You will return to your dorm immediately, and serve detention with me tomorrow evening."

I nodded, pleased at my returned clothes. I would have to learn that spell at some point, I hated destroying clothes. "Understood, Professor Snape." I brushed past him toward the Hufflepuff rooms with my mood generally positive. Sure, I had to serve detention, but I had also found a canine guardian for a trapdoor leading to places unknown. Honestly, the discovery won out in that case. Maybe I'd be able to figure out why I was like that by the end of the year.

Ernie Macmillan was waiting for me outside the Hufflepuff portrait, and I briefly wondered if he'd noticed that I'd purposely tried to have him injure me. His expression seemed against that notion, so I settled for a quizzical eyebrow raise.

He raised a hand, as if to stop me, and reached the other to scratch the back of his neck. "Hey, Harry. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for not saying anything in Potions. A-and I'm sorry again for stabbing you in Herbology. I know your hand's fine but it had to have hurt." He gave a nervous chuckle. "We really haven't started off on the right foot, have we?"

I shrugged, a bit confused why he was apologizing at all. "Snape just doesn't like me for some reason. I'm not mad at you or anything, and you really shouldn't blame yourself for Herbology, that was on me."

He seemed remarkably relieved for someone who had just been informed he was nothing more than a cog in other people's machinations, but whatever made him happy, I guessed. He extended a hand. "Friends?"

I stared down at the limb and finally took it. "Sure, Macmillan. Why not?" What a weird guy.

"Ernie." He insisted. "Just call me Ernie."

"I would say call me Harry, but you already do." I noted, and he laughed in response.

"You're a funny guy, Harry." He said as we walked into the common room. "You looking forward to flying lessons with Hooch tomorrow?"

This was news to me. "I feel like drunk flying might be a catastrophically bad idea for some people. Aren't we underage, anyway?"

Ernie laughed again at my confusion. "Professor Hooch, Harry. Where do you come up with this stuff?"

I shrugged, helplessly. "It just comes to me, I guess."

With a pat on the back from Ernie, we sat with a bunch of other first year housemates and played exploding snap, a game that I'd probably find more thrilling if the cards exploding in my hand could actually hurt me.

Still, playing for a while with Ernie and the others was... nice. I'm not really sure how else to describe it. For a short time, I laughed along with them and it felt a bit less like my brain was yelling at me all the time. I could even forget for a moment my invincibility and pretend to be normal. That didn't help the feeling when I remembered, however. It weighed on me more than it ever had before, and I had to fake a yawn and excuse myself, heading to bed. Apparently, I would be taught how to fly the next morning. That would certainly make navigating the castle easier, I considered. I was already asleep by the time Ernie came upstairs.

The next morning, I rose early, preparing myself for the day's classes and giving some quick consideration to what the detention would be like. When I had detention before, the punishment was usually something like writing lines, but Snape struck me as unlikely to engage in something so pedestrian. I stopped by the library and asked for a book on mending charms, which the librarian begrudgingly directed me to and I leafed through that until it was time for my first class. I skipped breakfast because I wasn't hungry and I legitimately wondered if I could die that way, since it certainly took me a while without eating to even feel hungry at all, much less suffer any negative effects from forgoing it.

The Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws walked outside for Professor Hooch, or Madame Hooch as she apparently preferred, to address us with a good morning and get right down to business, which was a style of teaching I could get behind. "Everyone move to the left side of your broomstick, put your right hand over it and say, Up."

I did as instructed and the broomstick flew right into my hand, with an immediacy the Ravenclaws and my housemates couldn't match. Ron Weasley's insistence was rewarded with his broom smacking him in the nose, which some of the assembled found funny, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh. I never found the idea of pain funny and I couldn't experience schadenfreude in the same way others could. Still, I enjoyed my good fortune. Either through luck or some unconscious skill, I could feel the hum of the broom's magic under my fingertips, almost like a living thing. Actually, since this was magic, it might very well have been a living thing.

After a few minutes, every student had managed to pull a broom to their hands and Madame Hooch gave her next set of instructions. "When I blow my whistle, you're going to kick off the ground, hover for a moment, then lean forward to touch back on the ground." She waited until all of us were over our brooms and gripping them tightly before blowing the whistle.

I kicked off the ground and instantly felt the broom fill with energy, keeping me in the air. By the way it writhed, however, I could feel it wanted to do more. It wanted to soar, to glide, and dive, and I was convinced by that point that it was alive in some way, fettered to the broom and barely under the command of its rider. Some brooms, it seemed, weren't even that. Susan Bones rose higher on her broom than the rest, her face blanching until it looked solidly white as she crept higher up. Madame Hooch was shouting orders for what she was supposed to do, but it seemed in her fear she couldn't even hear her anymore. I looked left and right at the messy group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, both poised to do absolutely nothing but watch as the young girl fell to her death during the second day of classes. I gave a put upon sigh, rolling my eyes.

Fine. I'll do it myself.

I kicked off from the ground, feeling my broom becoming energized as it seemed to realize it wasn't simple hovering I required from it. I urged it faster, higher, leaning forward so I could whisper right into the enchanted wood. I was upon Susan Bones before Madame Hooch could yell one more command. I came along side her, gripped her broom with force, looked into her eyes, and commanded them both with as much authority as I could muster. "Stop." Susan Bones froze, and her broom likewise stopped moving, seeming curious at its new commander. "Come down, slowly." I addressed the broom, still staring at Susan. "If your rider is hurt, I don't think they'll let you fly anymore." The broom sagged and obeyed, beginning its steady but controlled descent to the ground.

Finally, we reached the floor, and Susan Bones launched herself off the broom and into Madame Hooch's arms, her body wracked with fearful sobs. Madame Hooch made a vague threat for everyone to stay on the ground and helped Susan Bones inside, hopefully to speak to a counselor. I dismounted the broom I was riding, and moved over to Susan's putting my hand over it with a stiff, "Up." The broom obeyed, and I held it up to my face, scolding it. "You must be more careful. They probably destroy brooms that hurt students and you were going up so far she could have been killed." I felt a surge as it tried to protest, but I shot that down. "No buts. There are limits to what you can do here and the riders are there to help you see that. You must listen to them in return." The magic in the broom sagged in acquiescence and I let it go, satisfied.

It was only at that point I noticed everyone in both houses staring directly at me. "What?" I asked, and a few of the eyes had the decency to look away.

Ron Weasley stepped forward, and shouted at the others still staring. "You're in a magic school now, you lot. Get used to it." At that, the others lost interest or were properly embarrassed enough to look away. Ron Weasley turned around at that point and offered his hand. "That was wicked, mate, really. Sorry if I stepped in where I shouldn't have, but I really can't stand when people think it's alright to stare at things that aren't totally normal. It's Ron, if you forgot, we met on the train."

I nodded. "With the journal." I said, taking the hand, and he smiled that I identified him correctly. "I meant to talk to you about that, actually, those questions about my scar."

"Sounds good, mate, but we probably shouldn't talk right here. You want to meet up after classes are over?" He winced. "Ugh, blimey, I forgot I've got detention with Snape tonight."

I shrugged at the convenience. "So do I. Why don't we talk about it then?"

He looked surprised. "You have detention with Snape, too? I mean, I know he didn't like you, but what did you do?"

"He caught me in the third floor corridor." I admitted. "Honestly, it could have been a lot worse." My robes could have remained shredded. Speaking of which, I still needed to look at that book more and practice the repairing charms I would need. If I could stop worrying about ruining my stuff then there would be no downside at all to dangerous activities. I looked around at the other students. Though I should probably look into healing magic, I thought to myself, for similar reasons.

"Mister Potter." Madame Hooch shouted as she walked alone back onto the pitch. I turned to face her approach and was a bit relieved to see her smiling face. I wouldn't have overly minded detention but it did have the habit of taking time away from me trying to answer some questions. "Ten points to Hufflepuff for excellent flying and another twenty for acting to rescue a student. I will be informing your head of house and I am sure she will put your name forward for your house quidditch team to consider you for a position next year." She clapped me on the shoulder and gave me a shake. "Well done, boy." Addressing everyone else. "Flying class is over for now but I expect you to come early for our next class so we can start all the sooner. Dismissed."

We walked away, presumably to prepare for our next class, and Ron waved bye to me as he moved past. "See you in detention, mate." I said something in the affirmative and Ernie gave me a congratulations on the save as he also apparently rushed forward because he had places to be.

I was left slowly walking to my next class, left in relative peace to consider repairing charms, completely oblivious to the second year Ravenclaw watching the scene that just transpired with eyes that could only see red.


	9. The Place that Fate Demands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish there was a some kind of chart that showed the character's ages relative to each other I could use for quick reference instead of me having to rely on wikis and quick maffs. In any case, there's going to be a bit more fraternization between years than usual because there are some characters I just can't wait four years to introduce. Hopefully, this will keep continuity tighter down the line, as well.
> 
> I've written far enough ahead that the year is just about closed out, and I'll probably make year 2 a sequel story since the focus will be a little less on Harry, Draco, Hermione, and Ron.

I would never call popularity a curse, but it was hardly all glitz and glamour, either. The closest I could come to describe it would be a place, my place, in the world. My father always told me everyone had a different place in the world, and as soon as you found it you needed to defend it with everything you had. But, my mother said that, while defending your place was important, it also became your duty once you found yours to shepherd others to their own. I wondered how I'd know what their place was if even they didn't know, but my mother said, 'once you see someone you can help, you'll know their place right away'. I never had reason to doubt her words, but I was almost overwhelmed when they came true so soon, on only the second day of my second year; it was like fate itself had intervened.

He had set himself apart from everyone else immediately, clearly not content to simply follow along the typical wizarding crowd. Apparently, Snape had noticed, too, because he'd already angered him somehow. Looking out the window and seeing him leap to protect that other student had clinched it: I would show that strange first year his place, and as soon as possible, before he could accidentally scuttle any chances of being popular before I could get to him.

Getting to him was a problem, all on it's own, however. He had detention with Snape on the second day, and I couldn't get out of my own classes until then. It was the matter of a few minutes before I decided to hang around him when he went to Snape's detention, that way I could meet up with him as soon as he stopped scrubbing cauldron bottoms or whatever malicious chore the Potion's master had cooked up. It was the matter of several hours after that, I figured out what I was going to say to him.

I would show him popularity, and lo, he would know his savior was-

"Hey, Cho. You do that Transfiguration essay yet?" Some nameless yearmate asked.

I gave a polished smile in response, showing off my dazzlingly pearlescent teeth. "Oh, I knocked that out last night. You want to use my notes?"

"That would be great." She declared, and I reached into my bag and withdrew the few sheets of parchment I dedicated to Transfiguration, giving it to the unimportant one and watching her scurry away.

Anyway, he would know his savior was Cho Chang, pureblooded Ravenclaw and zenith of fame, or at least I would be soon. It was my place, after all.

I waited for my classes to end with concealed impatience. It wouldn't do to seem less than a perfect student. As a second year, I was still carefully crafting my image. Like a fine soufflé, I needed time to rise.

Snape's detention was unusual, but not unheard of. He took my soon to be pupil and a few other first years into the Forbidden Forest, most likely to gather a few potion ingredients he hadn't procured over the summer. Normally, this was a punishment for the upper years, due to the forest's inherent danger, but it didn't seem like they were going far, so I contented myself with watching from the forest's edge. I do wonder, sometimes, how things would have turned out if I followed closer behind.

The four first years began gathering herbs, mushrooms, and tree barks, at Snape's behest. I had trouble deciding if there were really that many viable potion ingredients in the forest or if Snape was just directing them to collect random things in the hope they'd get splinters. Ron Weasley seemed to be following Harry Potter like a dog, which was something I would need to nip in the bud immediately. Such a companion would not be good to my pupil's image. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy seemed to be interacting favorably with what must have been a muggleborn, since I couldn't recognize her in the slightest and my father had insisted I keep connected to the pureblood functions as they came up.

He didn't believe in any kind of blood purity, mind, I think the grandmother on his father's side was a muggle, but he was famous enough that it hardly mattered. Still, he told me to utilize any connections I had to the fullest, and I had used the endless parties and galas not only to refine my own regality, but also to mark and identify all the relevant purebloods I would probably be interacting with during my time at Hogwarts and beyond. As a Ravenclaw, there wasn't a chance I would pass up information so freely available.

Draco Malfoy palling around with a muggleborn, oh I could feel the scandal already. Still, I was sure the miniature Malfoy clone could take care of himself. Maybe he was preparing an elaborate prank or some such childish thing. To be honest, he'd always seemed a bit moody when I'd seen him at the parties he'd been to, and those were only the most essential of engagements. My father had figured the Malfoy's saw themselves as too good for anything less, but my mother suspected it was actually Draco they were ashamed to show for some reason. Ah, I would need to check in on that at some point. A Malfoy was the kind of power player not to be left unwatched, my father had cautioned. Apparently, Lucius Malfoy had entangled himself in my father's affairs once or twice and he had become permanently wary of him.

I had started to yawn when an hour of gathering ingredients had ticked by and Snape made no motion to put an end to it, something the detentionees had clearly noticed. When another fifteen minutes passed with no evidence they would stop, I was just resigning myself to sneak back to Ravenclaw Tower so I could sleep and catch my pupil in the morning, when I saw a black shape descend from the trees, piercing the glow of wand light Snape had conjured.

An earsplitting scream split the area, as what looked to be an enormous spider fell upon the first years and I crept closer, determined not to let my pupil come to harm. This proved to be one of the dumbest mistakes I have ever made in my life, and if the sorting hat landed on my head and decided that single action qualified me to be one of the blockheaded Gryffindors, I wouldn't be able to argue.

Professor Snape dispatched the giant spider with a single spell, but the action forced him to drop the light at the top of his wand. This, it seemed, was what they were waiting for. I say 'they' because instead of the single creature I had worried of my unknowing pupil for, the trees and ground quickly became filled with the spidery beasts. I began casting spell after spell in defense, swapping between them so quickly I think a 'flipendo' slipped in at some point, flopping one of the dimly lit abominations onto its back and leaving its legs swinging uselessly at nothing.

"Professor Snape." The muggleborn cried out, as the man sliced open several at a time, muttering his spells. "What are these? I've never read about them before."

"Acromantula, Granger." He shouted, switching from cutting curses to blasting ones. "And you've never read about them because they are supposed to be indigenous to the Australian outback."

"Not to put too fine a point on it, Professor." Malfoy grunted, swinging a decidedly un-wandlike object and slicing an acromantula in half. "But could you tell us something more helpful than where they're supposed to be? A weakness, perhaps?"

"They didn't seem to come in such large numbers until Snape's light went out." Potter noted, seeming entirely unconcerned at the horde of creatures surrounding him.

Weasley considered for a moment, swinging a tree branch at a nearby spider before shouting. "Blimey, it's gotta have sensitive eyes. Anyone who can cast that light spell, do it now."

"No." Malfoy called back. "Hermione, teach Weasley how to cast it."

I could see the muggleborn's eyes widen, then she nodded in understanding. "Draco, you're a genius." She ran over and began shouting rapid fire instructions at the Weasley boy.

The creatures pushed us back until I was in a single clearing with the other four and Professor Snape, and if anyone had questioned why I was there at that point, they couldn't enunciate it through their grunts and spellcasting. Now that I was closer, I could see Potter actually jumping on top of the acromantulas to kill them, or batting them out of the air without any regard to personal health or safety. Malfoy, on the other hand, rather than trying to cast a spell, seemed to be wielding a metallic sword of some kind. I think my father actually had a pair hanging up in our house, somewhere, called them 'dueling sabers' or some such thing.

After what felt like an absolute eternity, Weasley finally managed the proper wand motion and intoned. "Lumos maxima."

I am not a spider, and therefore have not been cursed with particularly sensitive eyes. I never even needed glasses, which was a fact I've been quite thankful for. So when I say the light that shone from his wand burned through my retinas until the blinding white flipped into an empty black, I want you to realize how powerful it was. He didn't make it look like daytime, a particularly impressive fireworks show can accomplish that, he made it look like we were inside a firework. I couldn't see anything after it, and I wasn't even looking at him.

"Maxima, Granger?" Malfoy bellowed. "Really?"

Granger didn't respond, but I felt a hand grab my wrist and begin leading me, I hoped, out of the forest.

"Bloody Hell." Ron whispered, clearly not expecting his spell to pack quite so much of a punch.

"Oculus amelior." Professor Snape intoned through gritted teeth, and I heard footsteps join me and the person who had grabbed me. When the ground finally evened out and I knew I was back on Hogwarts grounds, the hand let go and I collapsed on the beautiful, safe, still unseen green.

"Would you care to inform me why you do not seem to be blind, Mister Potter?" Professor Snape asked, and while I couldn't see his sneer, his tone definitely implied it.

"Just blinked at the right time, I guess, Sir." He answered, a little too chipper for someone who'd nearly died on his second day of school.

Snape scoffed, but made no other reply as more voices came upon the scene. McGonagall's rang out first. "Severus, what are these students doing here so late at night? What was that light?"

"These students, with the exception of Miss Chang," he said my name without even a token effort to conceal his disdain, "had detention with me to gather some potion ingredients when we were attacked by a highly invasive species of acromantula. We fought with them for a time until finally, a lumos maxima was used to drive them back. None of them were bitten-" I could have sworn I heard him mutter, "more's the pity," but I can't confirm it. "But with the exception of Mister Potter, the spell seems to have rendered them blind."

"We'll get you all to Madame Pomfrey." Professor McGonagall assured us, then her tone grew more strict. "Then, Miss Chang, we can find out exactly what you were doing here so late after hours."

I put on my most innocent smile, hoping I was facing in Professor McGonagall's direction. "I was worried about Ron, Professor." I gestured roughly toward where I figured the Weasley was. "He hasn't been perfectly fitting in with the other Ravenclaws, so I wanted to help him, but when he didn't come back to the Ravenclaw Tower, I started asking around and when I heard where he went I wanted to make sure he was alright. I'm glad I did because it wasn't long after I got there, those spiders were everywhere and I don't want to think what could have happened to him and those other first years if they didn't have an older student there." I put a little quaver in my voice and set my unseeing eyes watering just slightly. This was my art.

Professor McGonagall sighed after hearing that. "Ten points from Ravenclaw for being out after curfew without permission from a Professor. But, I am awarding twenty points to each of you for brave conduct under extreme conditions. Acromantula are extremely dangerous , and besides your current sight deficiency, I'm glad you're unharmed."

My art was beautiful.

"Come along." She said, placing a hand on my arm and leading me forward. "Let's get all of you to Madame Pomfrey. Mister Potter, please help lead Mister Weasley and follow me."

The walk to the medical wing was one of the strangest I've ever been on. Without being able to see, all the labyrinthine corridors become that much more incomprehensible until I didn't know up from down or left from right. When I was finally sat down, and had Madame Pomfrey look over me, tutting, it was nothing less than a relief. I took the vile potion she handed me without much complaint and allowed her to tuck me into one of the hospital beds, all in all feeling extremely satisfied with the trip.

Sure, that first hour of waiting by the forest was boring, and sure to give me cramps in the morning, but it was all worth it. I was certain, without shadow of a doubt, I had chosen my pupil correctly.

When I woke up the next morning, I had my eyesight back, and the first thing I did was lightly kick the bed my pupil laid in, shaking him awake. He looked up at me groggily, and I extended a hand to introduce myself. "My name is Cho Chang and, Ron Weasley, I've decided to make you my new project."


	10. In the Nest of the Sparrowkeets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the Sparrowkeet Lounge members, here. Most of the time I don't see these characters getting a lot of love, but if anyone has any fic reccomendations where they do, please let me know 'cause I'd like to see them more. Characterization of Cedric definitely inspired by Ce'st la Vie by cywscross, it hurts that it hasn't updated in forever.
> 
> Anyone who can guess where the Sparrowkeet Lounge is gets an internet cookie.

What can I say about Cho Chang? It is a bit odd, growing up around and doing so much with Luna in my childhood, but Cho Chang is still one of the weirdest Ravenclaws I've ever encountered. It was actually quite striking.

"You've got a lot of the basics." She said, critically examining me in an empty classroom once we were released from the hospital wing. "You lack refinement." She hummed, mainly to herself. "Keep the way you wear your clothes, that's good. It suits." Normally, people called the way I wore my clothes 'sloppy' and 'Ronald, fix your tie for Merlin's sake' but I guessed it was mostly my family that commented on that. I never expected someone to insist I keep it that way. "You do need a bit of flair to go with it, though. Something 'you'."

In the interest of clarity, you should know that even though it was just the two of us in the classroom, and Cho was looking and speaking directly at me, she wasn't talking to me. She was, in fact, talking to herself. This was something Cho did a lot.

"Your hair will obviously need to change." She said, again, to herself. "It is your most striking feature, but we need to diversify you from the other Weasleys."

"Look, Cho. I'm really not sure why you're doing this, but my mum will kill me if I start dyeing my hair." I tried to interject on her musings and she gave a laugh in response, like a dog had just done something amusing, that was the only way she seemed to laugh.

"Ron, we're trying to diversify you from the other Weasleys, not have them disown you. Heritage is important, and that goes double for you." She said, matter-of-factly.

I gave a sigh, already done with riddles after only a couple days in Ravenclaw. "Why is that, exactly?"

She rolled her eyes in a patronizing manner. "You are the first Weasley in sixty-two years to not be sorted into Gryffindor. People hear that and their first thought is going to be 'what makes him different?' So we want to change your hair enough that they can still see its you while also immediately knowing you're interesting and not just broken somehow."

I felt a wrenching in my gut at that word, and I had to ask. "Broken?"

"Like Sirius Black." She said, circling me once again. "He was the first in his family not sorted into Slytherin for a century or so. People wondered what made him different but it turned out not much." She shrugged. "Still followed You-Know-Who, still became a Death Eater, still went to Azkaban. I guess the houses don't matter so much if you make stupid choices."

I'd never heard of him, but I couldn't fault her logic. Sounded like Black should have been in Slytherin. I squashed down the thought that I should have been in Gryffindor with a great effort, forcibly taking my mind off the subject. "But, why pick me as your new 'project' or whatever? Just because I'm not sup-" I stopped myself. "Just because I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor?"

Cho put a hand on my shoulder and looked down at me as if to say, 'oh you poor sweet idiot child.' "I have seen your place, Ron Weasley, and quite frankly I'm not sure you can make it there without my immediate intervention. Now stop asking silly questions and come with me. We'll walk and talk."

She set out of the classroom at a brisk walk, and I jogged up beside her, baffled at how much of a non-answer that was.

"First question: what do you like?" She said, her tone switching to a clipped, businesslike one, to replace her former evaluative tenor.

"Uh, Quidditch, I guess." I answered, now completely lost to where she was taking me after only a few turns in the castle.

She nodded. "Good. Ravenclaw may not idolize jocks, but being good at sports is a must. The team's training me up to be a Seeker once Jordan Laxley leaves, so I might have some pull in getting you on the team pretty soon. How are you on a broom?"

I blushed, looking away embarrassedly. "I've never actually flown before."

"We'll fix that." She said, easily. "All it takes is an upper year to watch us and Madame Hooch's permission."

"Who's going to be the upper year?" I asked, and Cho just grinned at me in response. It was honestly a bit creepy.

"What's your best subject?" She asked next, passing over my last question.

I shrugged. "It's only been a couple days, mate. I have no idea."

She pursed her lips, still walking briskly. "No matter. We'll just have to test that as well." She considered for a moment. "It might be that your best subject isn't even taught in your year so we'd probably have needed to do that anyway. Oh well. Add it to the list." Again, this was more directed at herself than me. "What else are you good at?"

I thought for a moment. "Wizard's chess?"

Her step faltered slightly, but she kept walking. "Really? That's good, then. We can definitely use that. That will help win the other Ravenclaws over, at least, since you don't seem to be of a studious nature."

"Hey." I protested, and she started like she forgot I was there for a moment.

"Do you disagree?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow and eventually I relented. 

"No, I guess not." I said, sourly. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"To meet some friends of mine." She said, breezily. "They'll be able to help with your hair, and a few other things." She added the last bit as more of an afterthought.

It probably would have been easier to guess who this friend was if I'd known anything about the other students in Ravenclaw, or other students anywhere else, come to think of it. Man, was I a bad Ravenclaw.

"Anything else I should know about you?" She asked as we approached the outside of another classroom.

My hand unconsciously flitted to the journal Luna gave me, concealed in the pocket of my robe. "No. I'm not that special." I admitted after a few minutes, my hand falling away.

Satisfied, Cho knocked on the door, adjusting her clothing for a few moments as she waited. The door opened and a clean cut student wearing the yellow and silver of Hufflepuff greeted her. "Cho, how was your Summer? I stopped by Ravenclaw Tower last night to see you, but you weren't there. Something going on?" He sounded genuinely concerned, and it was a bit unsettling to see someone around the same age as Fred and George act so honestly.

"No time for chat, Cedric." Cho snapped, grabbing me and pulling me in front of her. "This is an emergency."

Cedric looked me up and down for a moment before opening the door wider. "Come in." He said, expression serious.

Even to this day, it's hard to explain the scene I walked in on. The classroom, if it could even be called that, was deceptively large, easily five times the size of the biggest room in my house. There was a bar off to the side with bowls of peanuts and pretzels laid haphazardly atop it, and a window looking out at a sandy foreign beach where the sun was just beginning to set. Two older students, wearing the robes of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, played darts off to the side and were starting to get competitive when Cho and I entered with Cedric.

Cedric closed the door behind us and there was a click as some mechanism locked it into place. "What's the sitch, Cho?" Cedric asked, finally catching the attention of the dueling Gryffindor and Slytherin pair.

"Is that a Weasley?" The Slytherin more accused than asked, throwing another dart that landed not quite on the bullseye.

"Lay off, Marcus." The Gryffindor asserted, grimacing as his own dart landed in the outer circle. "Give Cho a chance to explain."

All eyes fell on Cho as she cleared her throat. "I submit Ron Weasley for the immediate supervision and consideration of the Sparrowkeet Lounge."

There was a crunch, as Marcus snapped the dart he was holding in twain. "You're joking, right? We talked about Poncy and the Wonder-Twins, already; you remember what we said about them?"

"'Not a chance.'" The Gryffindor elucidated.

"I believe the phrase, 'I wouldn't consider them cool if I was on fire and they were soaking wet,' made an appearance." Cedric added, not malicious, genuinely just adding it for completion's sake.

"You think this one is different just 'cause he's a 'Claw?" Marcus challenged, and I felt a bit intimidated by the older students, despite the fact logically I knew I was in far less danger here than I was with those spiders. Ugh, Madame Pomfrey had to give me a Dreamless Sleep potion in the middle of the night to stop my nightmares about them.

"Did you get your eyes checked, Marcus?" Cho asked, and the Slytherin blinked at the non sequitur. "Because your lack of vision is really quite disturbing at times." The Gryffindor gave a veritable chortle at the remark, as Marcus seethed. "He's not different because he's a Ravenclaw, he's a Ravenclaw because he's different. Ask yourself a few questions, here: why is he the first Weasley in sixty-two years to be sorted into a house other than Gryffindor? What makes him a Ravenclaw when he clearly lacks the outer appearance of one? Most importantly, how did he repel a horde of acromantula with a single spell he learned only moments before?" I had to hand it to Cho, she was totally weird, but she knew how to spin a story.

The three upperclassmen considered the questions, carefully, none of them making a move or sound until they had reached an opinion. Finally, the Gryffindor sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "What's he got?"

Cho perked up, visibly pleased at her small victory. "Attitude and look are nearly there. He already wears his clothes like he doesn't care, but he needs something unique, it seems to me. He doesn't have a problem standing up for other students, but I saw him following along after Potter, and that's definitely a no-go." She outlined in no uncertain terms, rattling the information all off the top of her head. "He's got a bit of a self confidence problem, but that's not a surprise. He likes Quidditch, Wizard's chess, and food, which is a fact I'm sure most of the student body have noticed. Favored school, unknown, but he seemed to pick up the 'lumos' charm quite nicely, so that's a possible, and he's never flown before, so we'll need to assist him with that." She considered for a moment. "And his hair, we'll need to fix that, too."

"Seems like a lot of work to put into a firstie." Marcus spat, stepping closer and looking down at me. "Who's to say he won't give up after the first week?"

"Only one way to be fair." Cedric interjected before Cho could respond. "How about a test?"

The Gryffindor shrugged, moving forward. "Test sounds good to me. Anyone got any ideas?"

"Dodgespell." Marcus decided, and for an instant I thought I might relax. I'd dodged enough fireblasts, spikes, and spit from the monsters Luna hunted that making sure a few spells missed sounded like I might actually have a shot. "On brooms." Or not.

"He'll do it." Cho immediately accepted on my behalf. "On three conditions: one, everyone uses school brooms." She smiled to Cedric. "We want it to be 'fair' after all. Two, he doesn't have to cast a single spell. If he makes it thirty seconds without being hit, the test is over, capische? He's a first year, I doubt he can cast the bat bogey hex. Three, if he wins, that's the end of discussion. I want the Sparrowkeet Lounge backing him one hundred percent."

"Works for me." Cedric agreed, good naturedly.

The Gryffindor hesitated, but finally nodded. "You'd better hope he's as good as you think, Cho."

Marcus took the longest to decide, thinking the three conditions over for a while before eventually giving in. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I can't nail a first year student with a spell in thirty seconds."

The three upperclassman walked out of the room and led the way to the quidditch pitch, passing idle conversation amongst themselves. I pulled Cho aside. "Hang on, we're doing this at the pitch? How do we know there isn't a practice going on right now?"

Cho gave me another pitying expression. She had a lot of those. "Do you know who those three are, my future pupil?" After I shook my head, she enlightened me. "That is Cedric Diggory, he's the seeker on the Hufflepuff team. Next to him is Marcus Flint, he's the seeker and team captain for the Slytherin team. Next to him is Oliver Wood, the keeper and team captain for the Gryffindor team. Who exactly do you suppose is practicing today?"

I paled, which is a considerable feat given my normal complexion. "Cho, are you telling me I'm facing off against three people on their house teams when I've never even ridden a broom before?"

"You're exaggerating." Cho brushed off as we walked down the hall. "You had Madame Hooch's flying classes, so you at least know the basics."

"Quick problem, Cho: one of the 'Puffs in my class nearly died and class was cancelled. I've never actually flown before." I interjected, and Cho's pace slowed.

She blinked once, twice. "Oh. Then this should be interesting, I suppose." She kept walking and I groaned as I followed behind her. Bloody Ravenclaws.

We walked out onto the quidditch pitch and I asked her in a harsh whisper: "don't you have any advice for riding a broom to give me?"

Oliver opened the broom shed and handed Cho a Cleansweep which she pressed into my own. "Don't fall off." She sagely advised.

I won't say that it was hard to get on my nerves, just that Cho did so very easily. I walked up against the castle wall, swallowing in an attempt to bury the lump in my throat, and straddled the broom with grim determination. I'd made it that far in life without getting eaten by a monster, a quick game of dodgespell shouldn't have been a big deal.

I kicked off the ground into a hover, like Madame Hooch had said before, and saw the three quidditch players rise easily from the grass. Cho announced the start and three multicolored spells went whizzing toward me.

I managed to save myself using the clever plan of temporarily losing control of my broom and spiraling downward before sharply pulling up. I was grazed in the shoulder by a particularly malicious cutting curse I'd bet knuts to nothing Marcus Flint cast. I tried to will the broom, tried to lean one way or the other, but I realized about ten seconds in that I am absolute pants at flying. The broom just never went where I wanted it and it was only through moving my body, ducking, weaving, and even slipping to the broom's underside I managed to last for ten seconds. I knew I would never make it to fifteen seconds but I just didn't have enough time to make a plan.

What would Luna do? The thought popped into my head, apropos of nothing. The answer was fairly simple: Luna would never have gotten herself into this mess in the first place. She never really followed anyone's orders, even if they were upper years, and there was no way she'd get this far without voicing some kind of opinion or complaint. But what would she do on a broom she couldn't control? The answer to that was even easier: she'd let the broom free.

With a resigned sigh, I took my hands off the broom and sat up straighter, the shift in weight immediately flipping me upside down. I held on by my legs with all my might as the broom erratically spiraled toward the ground. Shifting my weight again, I began to swing from side to side, further complicating its flight path until there were points it moved up instead of down, rapidly accelerating and decelerating without warning. I was just feeling my legs begin to give when the last spell zoomed by my ear and Cho called time.

That was, without a doubt, the longest thirty seconds of my life, beating out waiting for my mum's Christmas cookies to come out of the oven, trying to get Fred and George to unstick Ginny's dress from my forehead, and standing completely still with Luna so the Wooly Nocktaur couldn't see us.

I fell off the broom and landed on my back, groaning at the pain it caused. I saw Cho's head pop into my field of view with a bright smile. "Well, you didn't follow my advice, but you can't argue with success." She praised.

My three opponents glided to the ground and dismounted, Oliver helping me to my feet. "Unorthodox bit of flying." He commented and I nodded, vaguely.

"Congratulations, Weasley." Cedric shouted, adding to the pain of the migraine coming on. "You won fair and square."

"He got lucky." Marcus spat, but at the glares of the other three, finally crossed his arms and looked away with a scowl. "But a win's a win."

"And a loss is a loss?" Oliver ribbed him, grinning, and Marcus ground his teeth together.

"Don't push your luck, Wood." He threatened and Cedric and Cho joined Oliver in laughing at the annoyed Slytherin.

Cho waved her hand in an exaggerated gesture at the three quidditch stars. "Allow me to formally introduce the members of the Sparrowkeet Lounge: Cedric Diggory, third year Hufflepuff and Charms prodigy."

"I'd hardly call myself a prodigy..." Cedric interjected, but Cho ploughed past the interruption, either not hearing or not caring that he tried.

"He's annoyingly humble, and before you ask, it's not an act at all. If you're ever confused what the 'nice' way to handle a situation is, you'd better talk to him." She... complimented him? It was honestly hard to tell with the tone she used. She moved on to the next person, but Cedric didn't seem to mind. "Oliver Wood, fourth year Gryffindor and quidditch captain. He's as hardworking as any Hufflepuff, the only difference is that he'll kick your arse if you don't put in the work, too."

"And before you ask, Weasley," Oliver put in, "that does mean you."

Cho pressed on. "He has a predisposition for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he'll match you in any class he wants if you give him a little time to put in practice." Oliver grinned and I began feeling a bit faint. I probably hit my head harder than I'd thought. Cho moved on to the sour Slytherin, who puffed up his chest a little as the attention went to him. "Marcus Flint, fourth year Slytherin and captain of his own team. If you're looking to find something specific, be it gossip, a book, or one of the more 'restricted' items, Marcus has connections just about everywhere."

"But it's not cheap, Weasley, so don't expect me to take any IOUs." He huffed, and Cho paid him no heed just like with the two before.

"He's most skilled at Healing magic-" Marcus interrupted her again.

"And if you tell anyone that, then you're a dead man." He shouted, and I gave another audible swallow.

"But," Cho shot him a glare as she talked over him again and he backed off a step, "he's also close to the top of his class in Arithmancy, if you're looking for an expert there."

I blinked, surprised. The hulking, sour faced, Slytherin was an expert in Healing and Arithmancy? I suddenly looked around self-consciously for Fred and George ready to announce they'd set all this up to prank me.

"Aren't you forgetting someone, Cho?" Cedric suggested and she looked confused for a few seconds before an embarrassed blush colored her cheeks.

"Ah, yes, and there's me: Cho Chang, second year Ravenclaw and information expert. If you ever need to investigate something, from a person, to an object, to a subject, she'll do it faster and more completely than anyone else." She introduced herself, and it was a bit unsettling for her to speak of herself in the same detached fashion as she did the others

"She memorized where everything goes in the library during her first year." Oliver confided, leaning down and whispering beside me.

"Nothing concrete, but she shows promise for Conjuration out of all tested subjects." Cho finished, and then blinked, her stance relaxing like she'd been possessed while she was talking. I shuddered. Creepy.

Cedric clapped me on the back. "Welcome to the Sparrowkeet Lounge, Weasley." The action seemed to jog the last bit of brain I had left and I felt my eyes roll back as I keeled over and fell to the ground, blacking out.

'What a weird day,' ended up being my last thought before blissful unconsciousness wrapped around my being.


	11. The Procurement of Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy back at it again on his continuing journey to become the best character. Will he win? Only time and possibly the comments section will tell.

Hermione didn't talk much after we were released from the hospital wing and I tried not to let it bother me. As she left for Gryffindor tower without so much as a goodbye, however, it was a stark reminder that I couldn't be so idle at Hogwarts. Wednesday was a free day this year, so I was determined to make the most of it. I required more friends, at least one additional. Hermione was exceptional, and I could still hardly believe my luck for meeting her on the train, but she would not be available at all times and I might not always be in a position to defend myself alone. I looked down at my hands, covered in painful red blisters where the wielding of my saber had worked through my thin skin. Actually using it in combat against those acromantula was nothing like practicing in my room at home. Every muscle in my body ached at the exertion and fear I had experienced and my hands were almost completely useless.

"How do I keep this from happening?" I muttered to myself in a seemingly empty corridor.

"Give it a week." A scratchy voice responded, the man it belonged to brushing past me as he moved from one shadow to the next. "Your callouses will come in by then."

I looked down the hall at my mysterious advisor, pushing a broom along in front of him with a mangy, almost feral looking, cat trotting along behind him. My mind struggled for a few minutes to place his name but eventually I managed it. "Argus Filch."

His pace slowed, allowing me the opportunity to catch up, but he didn't stop. I took the chance he provided and sidled up next to him. "Need something, boy?" He asked, gruff but not openly hostile just yet.

"What were you saying before?" I asked, carefully. Clearly I would need to tread lightly around the squib. Calling him touchy was an understatement. "About callouses?"

He chuckled, his gravelly voice giving it an eerie undercurrent. "Not surprised one of you spell-happy purebloods wouldn't know about them." He leered at me from the side. "Comes from hard work, after all."

Argus Filch was the school caretaker. While Hagrid handled the grounds, Filch operated inside the castle and according to some of the Slytherin students I spoke to, he took his job very seriously. Confiscating items, catching curfew breakers, and handing out detentions, Filch did them all. As far as undesirable enemies went, Filch ranked somewhere between Dumbledore and Voldemort. "I'm sure my father would be scandalized." I answered, breezily. "But then, he is one of those spell-happy purebloods," I tilted my head slightly so Filch could see my openly mischievous smirk, "so who cares what he thinks?"

Filch gave me an appraising expression, seeming to actually look at me for the first time, all the while pushing the broom forward. "You're a Malfoy, then. Parents so prissy they'd give you anything but the rod. Fat lot of good it'll do you later in life."

"My father even has a cane." I admitted with faux regret. "Can you imagine the missed opportunities?"

Filch found a snicker escaping his mouth before he could clamp down on his scowl once again. "What are you doing wandering the halls? Skiving off class, are you?"

"No Wednesday classes for first years." I informed him, without snark or criticism. "And since I haven't yet been invited to join any particular clubs, I'm wandering the halls looking for something to do." I continued, this time not quite reaching snark, just a hint of cynicism.

"And you thought it might be fun to poke the old caretaker, eh?" He bristled.

"Originally I was going to find out something about my hands, but you saved me a trip." I quickly explained, deciding that was enough for one day. "I'll let you get back to your work."

Filch muttered something in the affirmative and I stopped in place as he and his cat traveled past me. I marked him down as a project to continue at a later date and moved away.

Friends. How should I procure some friends? I wondered to myself. More importantly, who should I procure as friends? Weasley had obvious protection advantages, and he certainly seemed dim enough to bend to my own desires, but that same dimness is what I'd already rejected in Crabbe and Goyle. I didn't want soldiers, I wanted generals. Also, I can admit to a personal dislike of the boy on top of my family's ongoing feud with his. I rejected Weasley and considered who else. Harry Potter seemed fine in the classes I'd shared with him, but showed no drive to succeed, and just thinking about that drove me up the wall. Invincibility would be handy to keep around, but I couldn't speak for his personality. Still, I also had to admit he would have value politically: being able to bend the ear of the Boy-Who-Lived would put me in good stead later on. I put him down as a 'maybe' and thought further.

I thought of the Slytherins in my year, most of which I knew vaguely from various social events but little beyond that. With each name I equated a 'dark' 'neutral' or 'light' appendix, but that mattered very little to me at present. I was still young, so posed no threat to the dark or light houses, and befriending anyone at this point would ensure loyalty later on. It would be insulting if their loyalty to any lord trumped mine, Voldemort or Dumbledore, so I would bend their efforts toward thinking of me alone as their one true lord.

My father had always stressed that Malfoys were the best, but that was hardly concrete reality. Malfoys were the best because they made it so, and I would ensure I was.

But who to befriend? It was exceedingly troublesome. None of the other first years had even distinguished themselves, unless you counted Susan Bones almost swan diving off a broom, if the rumors were to be believed, and that was hardly-

"Shut up." A loud shout came from the classroom beside me, startling me and instantly forcing me to investigate.

I opened the door to see Neville Longbottom of all people alone in the apparently empty room, papers and textbooks strewn across the floor. He looked up at me, face fearful as I entered.

"Were you..." my mind flitted through a series of possible questions before deciding on, "talking to someone?"

"No." He blurted out hurriedly, then shrunk back on himself. "I was alone." I considered the boy in front of me. Neville Longbottom, pureblood, light family, his parents suffered some sort of accident at the hands of Death Eaters, I would need to look up later, which probably meant he had no love lost for Slytherins. "What," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, "what do you want, Malfoy?" He seemed malleable, but he had to be in Gryffindor for a reason, which meant he had some kind of hidden depths. He also argued, apparently with himself, in empty classrooms which would require its own explanation. His classwork was exceedingly average, the exceptions being Herbology, in which he excelled from what I saw, and Potions in which he nearly melted his cauldron. This was especially confusing as the two disciplines are almost exactly the same to me, so what could he possibly be doing different?

I hummed to myself before answering, my eyes wandering around the discarded papers before landing on him. 'Victory comes from finding opportunities in problems.' Sun Tzu said. "Professor Snape asked me to tutor you in Potions." I lied, giving my voice a bored affectation. "He doesn't want you blowing up a brew and injuring students or something like that." He seemed unsure, so I pressed harder. "Granger and I are the best in the class, and she'll probably help, since we study together." I offered and his shoulders relaxed, relieved one of his housemates was involved.

He seemed about to say something before he winced again, whispering. "It's not."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not what?"

He looked up, sharply, taking a few moments before blurting out. "It's not that I don't study, but when Professor Snape is standing right there, it's so hard to concentrate and I screw it up."

"He's a killer duelist, so I can see being afraid from the point of view." I acknowledged. "But he's also my godfather, so it's hard for me to see him as anything other than family, sometimes." And family meant everything to a Malfoy, at least, it was supposed to.

Neville sighed, his shoulders dropping into a slouch. "Honestly, I appreciate the offer, but I don't think any amount of tutoring will help me. I guess I'll have to accept failing grades in Potions while I'm here."

My eyes narrowed. "First of all, this isn't an offer. Professor Snape told me to tutor you, so if you want to refuse you'll have to bring that up with him." Of course, I knew he wouldn't, and the way he paled at the idea proved it. "Second, he asked me to tutor you so you didn't mess up the potions and hurt anyone, he never said I needed to tutor you in potion making." His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Third, you insult my abilities if you don't think that by the time I'm finished with you, you won't be at the top of our Potions class with Granger and I."

He smiled at the proclamations, finally understanding. "Thank you, Malfoy."

I waved a hand, shaking my head and stepping forward. "Don't thank me, it makes it sound like you owe me something." I extended a hand. "And call me Draco."

He took it. "Draco, then, you can call me Neville. But, what did you have in mind for helping me with Potions?"

I hummed, letting my arm fall to my side. "Well, you are in Gryffindor, even if you don't seem it. All we need to do is prod that famous Gryffindor bravery, right?"

Then he looked downright worried. "What does that mean?"

My grin became somewhat feral as the specifics of the plan began to form. "How else? Fear training."

Neville gulped. Making friends was fun.


	12. A Powerless Void

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's McGiggs' POV now. I wonder if I'll ever get to Flitwick. Eh. Maybe in Second year.
> 
> Should I change the summary/title? I don't know. It's not inaccurate but maybe it gives off the sense the story's gonna be a little more meta than I actually made it. The ideas behind it are meta, but the story itself is played pretty straight. Lemme know what you think in the comments, I'd be interested to hear from you.

I always considered myself a fair professor. I never favored one student over another in terms of teaching or punishment, and my unbiased judgement had even secured me the position of Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts, where I could help keep some of the more... erratic professors in line. Even so, that did not preclude my liking some students more, and though I had never formed real friendships with any students for obvious reasons, there were those who I made clear could always come to me for advice or a sympathetic ear.

Hermione Granger, sitting on one of the endlessly rearranging staircases, her eyes staring ahead with glazed visions of some remembered horror, seemed like she could use that sympathetic ear. I called out to her as I approached, but remembered shortly thereafter her condition. Debilitating injuries, like deafness and blindness were uncommon in the wizarding world, to say the least. Healing magic was available to treat physical injuries, if attended to in enough time, so usually the problem only occurred when very dark magic was involved. To see a girl young as miss Granger affected, even if I knew it wasn't because of a dark wizard, logically, it still turned my stomach to consider her misfortune.

I sat beside her, and our eyes met, I'm sure with her gleaning some bit or parcel of my thoughts at the same time. She hadn't advertised her legilimency since coming to the school, but I'd far from forgotten my visit to her and her family.

"Professor McGonagall?" She asked, her voice pitched in that slightly off way I had heard her father attribute to her lack of hearing. "I'd meant to find you after the sorting, but I've unfortunately been quite busy and it keeps slipping my mind."

"It is quite alright, Miss Granger. First year can be quite hectic, particularly for students actually learning the material." I answered, smiling to emphasize the unheard amused tone in my voice. "Still, what was it you meant to find me for?"

Hermione's face seemed to regain some color as she answered, and the horror in her eyes had lessened. "I wanted to thank you, for your visit, and to let you know I was settling in alright."

I decided to press further, as distracting her seemed to help her mood, and I was genuinely curious how the miraculous legilimens was handling things. "Have you made any friends yet, or is it still too early for that?"

"Yes." She answered, excitedly. "Well, one friend at least. He is quite nice, though, even if he's a bit odd."

"And who would this odd friend be?" I inquired, satisfied even without going through the first year Gryffindors that she would likely find all of them odd in some way or another.

"His name is Draco Malfoy, he's a first year in Slytherin." She announced and the clarification he was a first year Slytherin ensured there would be no confusion he was anything but Lucius and Narcissa's child.

"Ah." I struggled with how to broach the subject carefully. "Mister Malfoy's parents have... unkind things to say about muggleborns." She gave a little wince at the word, an action causing me to raise a questioning brow. "He hasn't been teasing you, has he?"

Hermione laughed, giving me some relief. "He struggles with it, sometimes, and I can hear the word mudblood-" now it was my turn to wince, "on his lips from time to time, but he never says it and he doesn't mean anything by it either way. If I'm being honest, he seems to think of himself below purebloods, nonmagical-born, and halfbloods." She frowned at the thought. "I don't even know why, but it's like he thinks of himself as the lowest form of wizard." This was a surprise. I'd never known any Malfoy to think of himself as anything but the best, excepting Voldemort, himself. Hermione quickly changed the subject, adding. "And he likes books, so no matter who his parents are, Draco can't be that bad."

I breathed a sigh of relief at her assurances. She sounded a bit naive, but I had to remember that Lucius and Narcissa's son was just as young as she was. Maybe their friendship would survive. In any case, it wasn't my place to comment on it. I looked back over to the first year student and her gaze was once again coated in remembrance. I opened my mouth to ask, but she answered before I had the chance.

"It's about the other night." She told me, and I listened silently, waiting for her to continue. "It isn't the acromantula that bother me, well it is, just, not exactly." She groaned, scratching at the hair around her temples for a few seconds before continuing. "When other people are struck with blindness, it's awful. I don't envy any of the others, it's just-" she swallowed, heavily. "When I lose my sight, it's like everything disappears. I can't hear, can't see, it's just a black void stretching forever. I would feel a hand grab me, to pull me away, and I wouldn't know if it was a spider or a person, or some other creature the others screamed at me to run from, I..." she stared down at her hands, opening and closing them. "I hate that feeling, that I'm powerless. I never want to feel it again."

"I hope you never have to." I told her, casting a silent tempus and checking the time. "It's almost curfew. Can you make it back to Gryffindor Tower, alright, or would you like me to escort you?"

She flashed me a smile, standing and brushing away some detritus on the front of her robes. "I'll be alright, Professor. Thank you."

I made it to my own feet, and bid her a safe walk back before moving on myself. I could have taken her back to the dorm, but I trusted her to get there on her own, and I usually had to deal with upperclass students trying to break curfew on the first few days before they realized I kept a close eye on the halls. With the amount of time I'd spent at Hogwarts castle, I probably knew it better than anyone not named Filch.

Speaking of which, I greeted the curmudgeonly caretaker as he passed me in the hall. "Good evening, Argus. You seem to be in high spirits."

"Talked to a couple first years today." He revealed. "Crop might not be as bad as they usually are. These ones seem to know a bit of respect."

I couldn't quite tell whether that was a good or bad thing - when Filch was involved the two became a bit skewed - so I settled for an even nod of my head and hum of acknowledgement. It was safe, if nothing else. Still, curiosity beckoned. "Which students have caught your attention?"

He smiled, displaying his wicked and mismatched teeth. "Longbottom." He answered, and I agreed that the Gryffindor was polite to just about everyone, just as so many things seemed to scare him. "And the little Malfoy brat."

This, was more of a surprise. Lucius Malfoy had made his opinions on Squib rights explicitly clear. Multiple times. In public. I would have suspected he might be tricking Filch, but Hermione Granger's words came back to me in that moment, 'like he thinks of himself as the lowest form of wizard.' It was obvious, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were not the only first years to watch out for this semester. Perhaps I would arrange to meet with Draco Malfoy, and get a read on his personality for myself. He was sorted into Slytherin, so there was no telling just how far his cunning ran. If we weren't careful, Hogwarts might be creating another dark lord, and that is something that cannot stand.

Filch moved on, and I continued on to speak on the subject with Filius Flitwick. I planned to bring it up to Dumbledore, but I valued Filius' council and wanted to hear his thoughts first. When I approached his office, however, I heard voices from within, Filius', of course, and Severus Snape's as well.

"I don't care if he didn't even buy the textbook, I'm asking what you see when he casts a spell." Severus growled, clearly impatient.

"That is what I am trying to tell you, Severus. None of my first years have cast any spells in my class yet. We work on the theory before even picking up a wand. Why the sudden interest in the boy?" Filius' high pitched voice squeaked through the door as I raised a hand to knock but hesitated when Severus spoke next.

"Because what I saw makes no sense, Filius. Either there is something very wrong going on, or someone is spending a lot of time and effort in attempting to fool me, and I appreciate neither." My eyebrows rose. Was he speaking about the young Malfoy? But why would Severus come to Filius about that?

"He's still a child, Severus. Bursts of uncontrolled magic are common at around his age, that's why we try to get them here in time for-" Severus cut through Filius' explanation with fervor.

"This was not uncontrolled magic, Filius, this was a spell, and more than that, one he'd learned only moments before by Miss Granger." He explained and Filius sighed.

"I'm really not sure what I could say that would satisfy you, Severus." He admitted. "If something happens in class, I'll let you know, but I think you're jumping at shadows. What's the worst that could happen, anyway, if what you say is true?"

"He hates Slytherin, Filius." Severus responded, deadpan. "If he has the power I think he does, he risks every student in my house."

I chose this moment to knock on the door. After a few moments, Filius opened it, and greeted me cordially. "Good evening, Minerva. Come in, I was just speaking with Severus. My, things are exciting this year. It seems like every time I turn around, there's a new surprise."

"I just had one, myself." I admitted, turning to a displeased looking Severus with an inclined head. "Severus, I hope the students you had in detention have fully recovered." He grunted something in the affirmative, so I continued, addressing both of them. "I just spoke to Miss Granger and she seems to have befriended one of your students, Severus. Were you aware she and Draco Malfoy were friends?"

His eyes narrowed at the question. "I hope this line of questioning ends with a point of some kind?" He asked, instead of answering.

The direct method was usually the best way to deal with Severus, I'd learned over the years. He could dodge questions like the best of them, and he usually chose to do so. "I fear Draco Malfoy is playing a dangerous game, earning the trust of a..." I hesitated to reveal her legilimens abilities just yet, "dedicated student like Miss Granger, and even going so far as to earn some degree of affability from Argus Filch."

"Argus likes him?" Filius asked, beaming. "That is a rare feat, indeed."

"If he were one of your lions, you would support a student making friends." Severus accused, acidly.

"But he's not one of my lions." I countered, with just as much force. "He's the son of a Death Eater and I want to be sure he isn't going to become the next dark lord."

Severus met my gaze for a few moments before eventually breaking it with a sigh. "Draco has always been odd." He admitted. "He shows dedication in his studies, but no great passion, a situation that only began to improve quite recently. When the sorting hat hesitated placing him in Slytherin, I actually feared for a moment Hufflepuff might be his destination." His lips curled into a snarl. "Where James' spawn eventually showed up." His mouth became even again and the weariness in his eyes betrayed the reason for his honesty. "I don't know if he is the next dark lord or not, right now he's only a child, but I have seen his interactions with Granger and they actually listen to each other, like..." he bit back what he was going to say, suddenly standing up straighter and becoming more guarded. "To me, it does not feel manufactured. A bit stilted, perhaps - they are still young - but not a manipulation." He walked to the door, before delivering a parting comment. "I would look more carefully at some other first year students, Minerva. Surprises are dangerous, and this batch, like Filius mentioned, has surprises every time you turn your back. Think on it." And with that, he left without another sound.

Filius and I exchanged a few pleasantries, but it was clear the both of us had more on our minds than would easily allow a conversation of substance, so I bid him goodnight and walked the halls for a while. I found one or two students trying to break curfew, but I didn't even assign detentions as I ordered them back to their rooms. I had other things on my mind.

Eventually, I found one last student, now officially breaking curfew, as he stared into the legendary Mirror of Erised.


	13. Imperfect Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline's gonna get a bit screwy for the next few chapters, but bear with me. I'll cover Halloween, Christmas, and quite a few things in between.

By all accounts, mirrors are simple things: they show perfect reflections of the outer world. This simple task has a not-so-simple perception attached, however. Mirrors are not seen as perfect, but devices for the vain and sinful. They perfectly reflect an imperfect world no one wants to see, that is their mistake. I am the Mirror of Erised, I reflect a perfect world that doesn't exist.

The boy in front of me was curious, as they always are, to see the world I reflected. This time it showed his family, a smiling father, and a mother I could tell his heart ached for. A brother, too, younger than the boy, as he would be for all time. I can always tell where the imperfections lie. Their minds are open to me as soon as they gaze into their reflection and no amount of self delusion can prevent me from showing their perfect world.

I don’t keep track of the time, so he could have been staring with longing at the reflection, his tears wearing tracks down his face for all eternity and I would never flicker. A teacher interrupted however, her flowing green robes whirling into the classroom as she looked in concern at the boy before spying me and understanding. “Cedric Diggory.” She breathed, and the boy whirled around at his name.

“Pr-professor McGonagall.” He hurriedly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I... didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m not surprised.” She said, striding forward and looking at her own reflection. “The Mirror of Erised does tend to capture attention quite easily.” Lily and James Potter, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, more friends, healthy, whole. An existence without Voldemort was her heart’s greatest desire. The ability to never see another friend die was what she wished. In her perfect world, it was true.

“The Mirror of Erised?” Cedric asked, his eyes drawn to my glass again, to see his family, alive, happy. It almost crushed his spirit every time he looked away, returning to the world where it was false.

I am not a malevolent being, I find no joy in the suffering. I simply am, and all the joy and sadness I cause is as much because of them as it is me. I am only a mirror, after all.

“I don’t know where the headmaster found it, as it’s been lost for who knows how many years.” The professor answered, still staring at the faces she’s lost in familiar melancholy. “The Mirror of Erised possesses the ability to show our heart’s greatest desires.”

She grew silent for a few minutes, before Cedric said, “I see my family. A-alive, that is.” He wiped his eyes again. “My mum and my brother, a year ago...” he went quiet, unable to continue.

“I see my family too, in a way.” She admitted, reaching out and laying a hand on my glass, before finally pulling away without leaving a mark on my pristine surface. “You pay attention in my class, Mister Diggory, do you know why I became a cat animagus?”

“I never gave it much thought, Professor.” He said after thinking for a moment. “You don’t get to choose your animal, though, it’s something personal to you, isn’t it?”

“In Scotland, cats are a sort of guardian animal. A new home must be explored by the cat first, and cats on the front porch ward away danger. They have sharp sight in the day and night, and nine lives to survive on.” She explained and winced as her eyes traveled through the faces I revealed to her. “More than anything, during the war, I wanted to protect my students.” Her hand closed into a fist. “I became a guardian cat because I never wanted any of them to get hurt. I wanted to burn all my lives if it meant they got to live theirs.” She sighed, closing her eyes until her fist gradually unclenched. “War, Mister Diggory, does not aim tragedy. It fires randomly, and the protectors and guardians can only hope they are there to intercept it before it strikes. When I look in this mirror, I see a world without my failure, and as fanciful as it may be to consider, I can no more change the past than you can. The world in the mirror can never be my world, and I am truly sorry it can never be your world as well.”

Cedric Diggory closed his eyes, finally turning away from the mirror to look at his professor. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m sorry this old mirror is the only way you get to see your friends again.”

She smiled, turning away with the boy and walking out of the room. “Oh, but I do see them Mister Diggory. I see their faces in every student that walks into my classroom with fire in their eyes. I see it in every spell cast and test passed, and on rare occasions in the odd childish prank. I see them in you, Mister Diggory, and I am proud.”

The room was empty once more, and I reflected nothing.

The next to find me was a girl with straight black hair and wide eyes so dark they almost matched. She saw herself fighting off a werewolf, protecting a village, barely getting out by the skin of her teeth. She stared at the scene in longing, her armor tattered and broken, the silver blade she used covered in the beast’s tainted blood.

No teacher arrived to interrupt her, so the longing morphed to despair. She ranted at me, at her perfect self I was reflecting, because she knew she could never be the same. Because her father was the greatest hero in the wizarding world, and she was nothing more than a coward.

She argued with herself until her voice grew hoarse from overuse, and she finally turned away.

Cho Chang left the room, and once again I reflected nothing.

Blonde hair, silver eyes, and magical power as his greatest wish. If I could get deja vu, I would certainly have felt it then. All the same, this Malfoy’s wish was a departure from his predecessor. While Lucius Malfoy wanted power to rule over others, Draco Malfoy wanted power to become equal with them. I could not grant such power, but I could reflect a world where that was true.

The others would stare with longing or despair, sadness or anger that their circumstances could not be the same. He simply stared. He watched the glass for a while, expression never changing, and then he finally turned away and walked out without making a sound.

I don’t measure time, but I know the next to enter my room was a long while after. A red haired boy with robes in constant disarray and dreams of a silver haired girl in some kind of beach lounge along with his friends, the Sparrowkeet Lounge, his brain supplied, and Luna Lovegood, accepted.

He viewed the image with nervousness, but also a sort of determination. Unlike some, this dream was not an impossible flight of fancy, and he seemed resolved to do everything he could to make it come to pass. With a last glance behind him, he ran from the room, my reflection disappearing once again.

If there was ever a dream I had trouble reflecting, it was the brown haired girl’s. I showed her in the park near her house, where she had often spent hours reading under the towering oak tree before the exile from her peers had taken even this refuge from her. A blonde haired boy, the one from earlier, in fact, sat down beside her with his own book in hand. She looked at the image with a wistful expression, but it was only when the boy made some silent comment and she responded in kind without even looking up from the page that it was fully realized.

Her hearing restored, her haven returned, and the blonde boy, Draco Malfoy, there with her. There is no such thing as a simple wish, but this struck me as something close to the mundane. There are times, however, when the mundane is even more impossible than a miracle.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” A voice interrupted Hermione’s staring. She whipped around to see Cho Chang, robes in perfect order, hair razor straight, and expression as she looked into her reflection, of a brave and selfless hero, one of disgust.

Hermione shrank back at the girl’s appearance, far too used to seeing the expression directed at her. “What?” She squeaked, having only felt the air on the back of her neck, and not heard the words spoken.

Cho gestured to the reflection, still not looking at the brown haired girl. “I did some reading after the first time I saw it. It’s called the Mirror of Erised and it’s a trick.”

Hermione looked back at me, at her own reflection for a moment before turning back to Cho. “A trick?”

Cho nodded, finally breaking her gaze from the mirror and looking at her. “It shows impossible dreams, so you forget about everything else. It wants you to stay there, and stare at it forever.”

Hermione looked back. “Impossible dreams, huh?” She sighed, her gaze falling to the floor. “I really should have guessed.”

Cho patted her on the back in a comforting fashion. “You’re a first year, right?” She asked, and Hermione nodded in response. “There’s a lot in this castle you have to be careful of. Giant squids, feral caretakers, greasy haired Potion’s masters...”

Hermione laughed, and added, weakly. “Other students?”

“Other students, most of all.” Cho answered with a wink. “Though I’ve seen you hanging out with Malfoy, so you probably already know that.”

She wiped at some moisture in her eyes before looking back at Cho. “He did mention something like that, yeah. I’ve seen you in the library, haven’t I?”

She extended a hand and Hermione took it. “Cho Chang, I’m a second year Ravenclaw, and yes; I spend far too much time in the library.”

“I wouldn’t say too much time.” Hermione differed. “That’s where the books are, after all.”

It was Cho’s turn to laugh and the two turned away from their reflections to walk away. “My mom sent some snacks from home as sort of an early Christmas present. You want to try some?”

“Only if I see you try them first.” Hermione answered, half-jokingly.

Cho ruffled her hair as they walked out. “You have been hanging out with that Slytherin too much.”

Nothing, then something, time wicking away unmarked again.

My next visitor’s name was Neville Longbottom, and his reflection was quite curious, indeed. He wasn’t free from want, I could tell I reflected what he truly wanted, but what he saw was nothing more than himself, in the empty room in which I stay.

He walked closer, slowly, and pressed his fists against my glass before heaving a sob. He stared at his reflection, the closest to a real world copy as I’d ever come to create, and wailed at some hidden misfortune.

He was curled into a ball on the ground, succumbing to some bout of sleep when some invisible force roused him, and he shuffled away. His steps were quiet, he never said a word, and even his sobs seemed muffled, like he was trying to prevent someone from hearing him even in the empty room. I would have liked to watch him further, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t see him again until very close to the end of the year, so I reflected nothing and waited for my next visitor.

He appeared, some indeterminable time after, an invisibility cloak dropping off his shoulders to the ground. The boy with the lightning bolt scar: Harry Potter.


	14. The Nearly Godlike Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore's one of those problematic characters in fanfiction, I think. In canon, the things he does generally present him as either incompetent or evil, and those are both tricky to write real characters around. He's the kind of character I think you really need a plan for if he's going to be anything more than a vague figure in the background.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter has some of my favorite lines, so I hope you enjoy.

I always liked those muggle magicians. The idea that simple misdirection and information inequality could fool people into believing you could use magic when you really couldn’t always fascinated me. I am a pureblooded and powerful wizard, but I’d somehow managed to apply these concepts to the point that a section of otherwise perfectly rational people seemed to view me as some kind of deity. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and despite what some might say, I am not a god.

My tricks were a bit more advanced than the common muggle’s but no less effective. A time turner, unregistered of course, gave me the ability to be in two places at once as well as serving to help with the illusion of my omniscience. An invisibility cloak, Death’s own, perhaps, but without the other Hallows I had no way to tell, also assisted me in that regard. Unable to be summoned or detected, the cloak did very well in ensuring I knew things I couldn’t possibly have any way of knowing, though, of course, being an expert legilimens was certainly a bonus.

Perhaps my greatest party trick, however, was Fawkes the phoenix, a wonderful bird with an assortment of awe inspiring abilities that made for a lovely assistant. Traveling by phoenix fire was instant, and very nearly soundless. Among its other abilities, phoenixes were such rare creatures few, if any, wards prevented them from traveling between them. This, coupled with my time turner and cloak, added the illusion of omnipresence to my impressive faked omniscience. Additionally, a phoenix’s song bolsters hope and strength, making it a valuable boon to my speeches, and their tears had incredible healing properties. But the true worth in Fawkes, wasn’t the rarity of his abilities, but the rarity of his person. Fawkes was bright, eye-catching, distracting, everything a magician’s assistant needed to be. Every time someone looked at Fawkes, instead of me, I became that much more powerful, more mysterious. They would look at Fawkes, and I would be there, right beside them, seemingly in an instant. Their eyes would be drawn to a flash of flame, and my wand would be in my hand, a spell hurtling toward them. A dragon would have accomplished the same effect, but it would have been much more difficult to keep one in my office, and Fawkes’ immortality was also a plus.

They were impressive tricks, to be sure, but tricks all the same. Harry Potter, the mysterious Boy-Who-Lived, was perhaps my greatest trick of all. Voldemort was dead, at least to most, his parents were active participants in my Order and the child was the lone survivor who had somehow managed through some twist of luck to kill him. It was such an enigmatic yet perfect series of events, there were those that figured I’d planned the whole thing out myself. That would be a gross breach of trust and a bit insulting to consider, but I never denied it. I did know about the prophecy, after all, and more reputation as an omniscient was always to the good. As for the boy, I tucked him away, in a place no wizard would ever find him. I wanted him to be unseen by every fan, enemy, and especially by those surviving members of the Order. Shellshocked veterans were hardly the optimal choice for raising a child.

I will admit, I could have been more careful choosing the foster family. I saw a husband and wife, who loved each other enough to have a child, and my thought process amounted to something like, ‘they won’t mind one more,’ before I left him there, with only Minerva to know where he was.

I let the tale build for a while, turning the story into legend through the fervor of peacetime, waiting for the boy’s eleventh birthday, when I would show the final act, the prestige of my trick: the legend was real, the hero was here, just in time to stop Voldemort once more. In theory, the plan was flawless. In execution, I began running into problems around the time Hagrid came back to deliver his report.

I greeted him at the door, a simple ward alerting me to his presence down the hall. “Hagrid, I trust your visit with Harry went well? Please, come in.”

“Thank ya’, Dumbledore. It’s been awhile since I could put my feet up, least without worrying something’ll bite me if I do.” He chuckled at his completely truthful joke, and ambled inside.

“Tea?” I asked, gesturing to a kettle just coming to a boil, and Hagrid answered in the affirmative as a wave of my wand poured and served. “How is young Harry Potter?” I prompted once again, gently, as is the best manner with Hagrid.

“Oh, he’s a fine lad.” Hagrid assured me, taking a gulp of tea. “His parents would be proud for sure; talked like Lily when I asked about Hogwarts, and James when he was asking me about You-Know-Who.” He gave a hearty chuckle, before a shadow passed over his face. “Thought he’d know something, at least, about who he was, but the Dursleys never told him a darn thing. Told him a car crash killed his parents.” His teacup shattered as he gripped it too far. “Ah, sorry ‘bout tha’.”

I waved the apology away, just as I did the same with my wand and the shards of the glass came together to reform. “A useful charm, I often find myself placing the cups in places they are liable to fall and this helps ensure I don’t need to replace them quite so often.” I gave a genial smile and gestured for him to continue. “You were saying about the Dursleys?”

“Never told ‘im a thing about the magical world, never gave him ‘is Hogwarts letter. He’s skinny as a reed, like they haven’t been feeding him enough, and Dumbledore,” he leaned forward, conspiratorially, “a couple o’ times we were talking, he sounded a bit... off.”

Ignorance was fixable, I ran a school and it was better he knew nothing at all about our world than he think something of the importance of blood purity or similarly detrimental ideas. Some slight malnutrition, too, was hardly an issue with the amount of food the Hogwarts elves could produce. But, ‘off’, for all its simplicity, sounded far too foreboding to simply let go. “What do you mean by, ‘off’?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Nothing big.” He said, hurriedly, then continued. “A bit weird, is all, at times. Sometimes he’d be interested and ask question after question about something and other times it was like he didn’t care about anything at all. He asked me if wizards were bulletproof, and what spell Voldemort used to kill people. He asked me about immortality and when I tried to bring up other subjects he listened for a little bit, then tuned ‘em all out.”

I could feel my blood run cold at his description, not the least because I’d heard it all before. Curiosity was one thing, if he were merely fascinated by magic, that would be fine, but this was something far more dangerous. My decade long magic trick, the legendary hero of the light, Harry Potter, was acting exactly like Tom Riddle. I would laugh at the irony if it wasn’t so eminently disastrous. “What if I told you, Hagrid, that Harry was likely to become a danger, in the future, to the magical world? What would you say to that?”

Hagrid coughed, choking on some tea in surprise. “Harry? Naw. He’s a bit strange, sure, but I don’t think he’s gonna go dark anytime soon.” He chuckled for a moment, before elaborating. “His uncle shot him in the chest, and Harry never shot ‘im so much as a glare afterwards.” At my expression, he quickly clarified. “Only with blanks, o’ course. I don’t think there’s a single mean bone in his body, and that’s the truth.”

Hagrid’s assurance did set me slightly more at ease. Call him naive all you want, but the groundskeeper was an excellent barometer for character. I didn’t keep him around to clean trash off the grass, he was as much of a spy as Severus was, only aimed at the students instead of the Death Eaters.

Still, Hagrid was also optimistic, so I would need to check in on the Harry Potter problem, myself. Or at least, I would have, if the installation of the Philosopher Stone’s defenses hadn’t monopolized my time for a period shortly afterwards. I needed to make alterations to the castle, bring in arrangements to keep Hagrid’s dog fed, and finding the Mirror of Erised took the better part of a few months. I wasn’t even able to install it or place the Stone inside it before the term began, so I shoved it into an empty classroom and welcomed the students to Hogwarts, watching the sorting ceremony and clapping whenever appropriate. I did feel the oddest brushes against my occlumency from time to time, but I was able to consistently repel it. At the very least, I had some confirmation Voldemort was in the castle, even if I wasn’t certain yet where. My personal top two guesses were possessing Quirrel or one of the Crabbe or Goyle Scions, but it would become someone else’s problem reasonably soon so I endeavored not to think of it as much, finding the subject of Harry’s sorting to be of far more interest.

The sorting took some time, not the first this year to do so, and I could tell there was a back and forth between them as Harry nearly taunted the enchanted hat with his answers. Finally, the hat gave its verdict as the entire school watched with bated breath. “HUFFLEPUFF.” That was... unhelpful. Gryffindor would have assuaged my fears, Slytherin would have confirmed them, Ravenclaw meant I would soon hear a verdict from the other teachers, but Hufflepuff? Hardworking and loyal, yes, but the question was to what and to whom? Unhelpful.

Unfortunately, my time was suddenly occupied by that most intensive of resource expenditures: dealing with other students. My professors had this complaint about that student, they wanted this permission for that situation, they were concerned that this student was slowly becoming a dark lord. Actually, come to think of it, that last one took a fair chunk of my time all on its own.

His name was Draco Malfoy, but that wasn’t what people called him. Predominantly, they called him ‘odd’. Hogwarts was no stranger to the strange, even amongst the magical world, the school seemed to bring along with it more outliers than seemed reasonable at times. I could relate, of course, as I was one of them some time ago. This did not help Draco, however.

Draco was odd for a Malfoy, hardly ever showing up for parties, barely speaking of his family, and even befriending a muggleborn and a squib, it was like he’d been possessed, and not by Voldemort, either.

Draco was odd for a Slytherin, never showing off in class and being, quite frankly, helpful when other students were having trouble with the wand movements or pronunciation. He had a habit of reading ahead in all his materials, and took his studies more seriously than any petty rivalries that tried to shake him. Even Neville Longbottom, a student so scared of Slytherins he turned into a nervous wreck at the sight of Severus Snape, the boy had somehow brought under his sway.

Draco was odd for a wizard, preferring to do most of his work by hand, a method which particularly caught the attention of Argus, Pomona, and Severus as their respective fields offered little chances for those who refused to get their hands dirty. Even in war, though, there were a rare few wizards who developed callouses, which the Malfoy scion had slowly been earning.

Odd was really the best way to describe him, because even though he was outgoing, he was also secretive, even though he worked hard he never boasted, and even though he came from a family so pureblooded you could trace their line back centuries, he never said a word about it. It was like he was made to act contrarily to every assumption cast upon him. Minerva suspected this made him a dark lord. I suspected differently.

I followed him with my cloak, as he went about his day, and I learned a host of new things about the supposed dark lord.

He woke up early, moving to a spot close to the Forbidden Forest to practice with a muggle weapon. There was no one else around to see, and no real point at all, as far as I could tell, beyond simple self improvement.

He took a shower, I presume, as I have no real desire to breach that privacy, invisibility cloak or no, and walked down to eat breakfast with the other Slytherins. Strangely enough, they seemed to avoid him more often than not, and at breakfast the most they did was exchange pleasantries. Afterwards, he met up with Hermione Granger, a muggleborn girl, and the two set off to Hagrid’s hut.

They visited with him for a while, and I got the impression this was an often occurrence for them, but the conversation was hardly filled with dissidence. Some minor frustrations with classes, with students, Hermione revealed she had begun befriending Cho Chang, a second year Ravenclaw, while Draco did the same for Neville Longbottom, who he just seemed to remember he agreed to meet. Hermione told him she’d be working on an essay in the library and he told her he’d be there soon.

He left, and met with Neville outside Gryffindor tower, not even making an attempt to break in. The two talked for a while before entering a classroom Draco had obviously pre-prepared. I know this because he removed a sheet to reveal a box of live snakes, wriggling around and around. He sat down in on a desk and reached into a pocket to withdraw a silver vial. “Did you know that adult black rat snakes have enough venom in their fangs to kill a two hundred pound man in only three bites?” He drawled, and I finally got to some of these supposed evil actions the boy was taking.

Neville gulped, shying away from the box. “R-really? Are you sure we can’t just go back to dangling me out a window?” I raised an eyebrow. So his ‘friendship’ with Neville Longbottom was actually just bullying, plain and simple.

“And become predictable?” Draco scoffed. He waved his wand precisely and clearly enunciated, “tempus.” A dim blue clock appearing in the air beside him. “There’s a slot you can stick your hand in where the snakes won’t get out. If you do that for two minutes, I’ll give you this antidote.” He shook the silver vial he held. “If you don’t...” he pulled up the sleeve on his right arm to reveal another black rat snake, coiled there. “I have this one bite you, and I walk out with the antidote.”

Neville looked shocked. “That... that’s not fair.” He protested. Draco approached with the snake, and Neville cringed, capitulating. “Okay, I’ll do it.” He swallowed, nervously, squeezed his eyes shut and after a moment’s hesitation, shoved his hand through the slot and into the mass of serpents. He cried out, almost instantly. “Agh, one bit me.”

“Hang in there, Neville.” Draco said encouragingly, eyes split between the boy and the time.

Neville’s eyes began to water and his whole body jerked when, presumably a second bite had landed on his hand. He didn’t voice it this time, however, biting his lip instead.

The time passed interminably slowly, and the only reason I didn’t step in right away was because I knew I’d be able to save the boy if it came down to the wire. Beyond the bezoar in my pocket, I was also a fair hand at healing magic.

He jerked again. “Draco, I got bit three times. I need the antidote.” He pleaded, but Draco shook his head furiously.

“Fifteen more seconds.” He shouted, and Neville looked torn before determination lit his face and he shoved his hand in further.

Second after second passed, Neville got bit once more, then twice more, then Draco called time and he finally withdrew. His hand was covered in angry red puncture marks, some of them bleeding down his arm. Draco handed Neville the antidote, which Neville popped open and greedily drank before his face twisted into a grimace. “This is pumpkin juice.” He accused, and Draco laughed in response, sticking his hand in the slot without a second thought.

“Black rat snakes aren’t venomous, Neville. Don’t you know anything about muggle zoology?” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Neville breathed a shaky sigh, clutching one hand to his chest. “Oh, blimey, I thought I was gonna die.”

“But you did it anyway.” Draco pointed out. “Seems pretty brave to me.”

“I don’t feel that brave.” Neville admitted. “I only did it because you were gonna kill me if I didn’t.”

Draco scoffed. “Please. You have your wand, and you’re bigger than I am, too. You could have gotten the antidote away from me and even if you just ran, the most I’d be able to bite you with this is once before you made it to a teacher. You stuck your hand into that box for the same reason you always came back after I hung you out a window: because for all the fear you felt, every time, you knew you could handle it.” He walked forward and rubbed a knuckle on Neville’s head, tone becoming more humorous. “Because you’re a blockheaded Gryffindor, and to you, fear is only a suggestion.”

The two shared a laugh as the tension slowly leaked from the room. “How did you even get this many snakes?” Neville asked after he’d recovered something of a normal heartbeat.

“I asked my father.” Draco said lazily, then chuckled. “I even told him the truth. He asked why I needed them and I told him, ‘Neville Longbottom is scared of snakes’. He sent them right away after that.”

They laughed again and chatted for a bit before parting ways, Draco heading for the library. He greeted Argus on the way, exchanging a few sentences back and forth before finally meeting with Hermione once again and spending some time studying.

Two more meals, essays, spell practice, and a particularly boring game of wizard’s chess later, and the terrible terror of Draco Malfoy walked back to his room and went to sleep.

My professors, it seemed, were a bit jumpy this year. Not without reason, of course, I was baiting Voldemort into coming to Hogwarts, but still. I reassured them that I looked into it and found nothing wrong and let the matter drop, for me at least. Minerva, especially, seemed oddly protective of Hermione Granger, for reasons I had too many other things on my mind to consider. Even with the extra time the time turner granted, checking into Draco Malfoy took nearly the entire day.

By the time I’d resolved all the early issues the professors had to deal with, it was nearly Christmas, bringing with it a slew of fresh problems.

Harry became a much higher priority, and I was finally able to get a more solid read on him from the teachers.

“He’s a very quiet boy.” Pomona declared, one meeting. “Not shy, and he’ll speak when spoken to, but he never complains and he never goes out of his way to talk to anyone.”

“He’s a fair hand at transfiguration, but he’d do so much better if he only applied himself.” Minerva shook her head in disapproval.

“He walks around Hogwarts like he owns it. He cares only the barest minimum for the rules or anyone’s authority, and he has an annoying amount of luck, bordering on suspicious.” It was harsh, certainly, but still pretty lenient for Severus, so I took what I could get.

“He’s a curious boy, asking about all sorts of ‘dark’ subjects.” Filius gave a chuckle. He found the distinction of ‘dark’ arts funny because ‘knowledge is power. It is up to the user to decide how they will use that power. Besides, if there are dark arts, that suggests there must be light arts as well, but no one speaks of those in hushed whispers.’ “I don’t believe he intends to hurt anyone. Most of the time, he tends to avoid other people in favor of books, like my Ravenclaws.”

“He saved a fellow student, Miss Bones, on his first day of flying practice.” Rolanda reported. “He risked detention to do so, as well. He says strange things about how the brooms are alive, but he’s still just a child and I’m actually glad he has a bit of an imagination.”

“H-he p-p-pays an awful lot of attention in my c-class.” Quirinus stuttered out. “P-p-probably p-p-preparing to f-fight more dark wizards, eh?” Well that sounded hopeful, at least.

With the support, or at least the lack of confirmation he was an up and coming dark lord, from the other professors, I decided to gift my invisibility cloak to him, citing some agreement from his father that never actually happened. Oh, the cloak was originally his, true, a family heirloom or some such thing, but he died before he could make me promise much of anything.

I was usually pretty careful about that. The more promises I made, the more my deific image suffered. It was better to think I could do anything I wanted to, and simply chose not to, than that I was constrained by the same mortal limits as everyone else.

Losing the cloak did hurt, of course, but I needed a way for Harry to easily break some rules, curfew, restricted section limitations, and the third floor corridor most of all. Voldemort couldn’t have returned to full power already, and I needed to draw them towards each other to create a necessary enmity so Harry could dispose of him once and for all.

I would have liked to be the one to deal with Voldemort, but the prophecy chose him and if I spent all my time complaining I’d never get anywhere. Instead, I planned. Planning, in all my years as a paragon of the light, as a wizard, and as a magician, I discovered was beyond a shadow of a doubt my greatest skill.

I gave him the cloak, with a letter and a tracking charm, and waited for him to make his move. On the subject, I have never in all my travels and research found a school of magic so finicky and unreasonable as tracking magic. Divination struck at random and no one could decipher exactly how that factored in with free will. Healing magic was specific to an exacting degree and required intimate knowledge of both magic and the human body. Runic magic was so specialized you needed to be an expert to even begin to gather use from it. None of them had anything on my intense dislike of tracking magic.

It wasn’t enough that every spell took a bit of my blood to link it to me, nor that tracking people was practically impossible, but even tracking objects only worked for a little while before the spell inevitably decayed? Learning it for the first time, I was dumfounded to find that out.

I needed to learn how to use tracking magic to help my omniscience facade, but that does not mean I enjoy it. Honestly, if tracking magic didn’t exist, I’d be much happier just using my slew of other tricks, but it’s a useful tool, even if I dislike it. And I really do dislike it.

It didn’t take long, thank Merlin, for the tracking charm to alert me that he was out after curfew and I finally met up with him in the room I had tucked the Mirror of Erised. It was temporarily, at the time, but I hadn’t gotten around to moving it even once the other defenses for the Stone were put in place.

“A little late night wandering, Harry?” I asked, and he didn’t jump or start, but he did look around quizzically so he couldn’t have known I was there before I spoke.

“Professor Dumbledore?” He sounded calm, unafraid at being caught by a teacher after curfew, and after a moment he turned back to the mirror. “I was wondering when you’d come to see me.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “What made you wonder that?”

“Hagrid mentioned you on the first day we met, and to hear him talk you could have stopped the war with Voldemort any time you wanted to.” He reached out and touched the mirror, tracing the edge of some fantastical image. “But you didn’t, and I did. Honestly, it’s a bit of a wonder more people haven’t asked me how I did it, but I knew sooner or later, you’d want to meet me.”

“And now that I have?” I was curious at his response. The boy wasn’t acting as I expected, and managing reaction was a big part of my position.

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” Harry answered, and I blinked at the non sequitur before he continued. “Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Headmaster to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not an easy collection of titles to come across, but you’ve managed to snag all of them at once, and how?” He let the question dangle for a few moments, but after I remained silent he gave one anyway. “You’re a general, Professor Dumbledore, a commander. You want your pieces on the board, ducks in a row, and troops in position. You want to know where they are, when they’re going, and most importantly, what they can do. You thought checking in on me was nothing more than a formality, but I get the feeling you don’t know what I can do.” He turned to look at me, expression even but for the tiniest victorious smirk. “Am I close?”

A flash of Tom Riddle seared across my mind, but I forced it away, considering the boy. After a few minutes, I laughed.

“Something funny, Professor?” Harry asked, and he seemed simultaneously disgruntled and curious at my reaction.

I looked down at him, and my eyes twinkled as I finally gave my response. “Would you like to know the greatest difference between me and Voldemort?” It was my turn for a little non sequitur. Harry nodded, so I continued. “Voldemort would rather see his plans fail than his followers succeed.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Some time ago, Voldemort was a student, here. One that knew humility, charisma, the value of hard work and the support of others. Voldemort saw all of these things that gave him strength and despised it. He abandoned all of it, all of the strengths he acquired before and ended up with power, only, and a mind damaged and demented by it.” I stared into the mirror, into the face of a young Tom Riddle I had failed so monstrously. “Voldemort wants to be so far beyond a muggle he represents none of their traits, but in doing so he actually becomes something of a paragon for their worst one. Would you care to guess which?”

“Denial?” Harry guessed, and I shake my head.

“Ironically, I must answer no. It is hatred, Harry, that Voldemort represents. Hatred for me and those that fight against him, hatred for muggles, hatred for his followers, but most of all hatred for himself. Denial is powerful, and he somehow deludes himself into thinking his hatred for himself is some crude form of self-admiration, but hatred is far more dangerous. Hatred can warp and twist, even break people into shells of their former selves, but it can do nothing but destroy. Even denial has the capacity to shield yourself from a harmful truth, to protect, but hatred stands alone, and as its paragon, Voldemort does as well.”

I watched Harry chew on the words for a while before finally continuing. “I asked, before, what the difference between Voldemort and I was. It is not some petty difference in the power he values so highly, but in our trust. Voldemort sees himself as the best and he doesn’t tolerate any action his followers take that goes against the plan. I said before, he would rather his plan fail than his followers succeed. I do not deny that I like positioning some pieces here and there to start, but I am only a guiding force.” I turned to him with a gentle smile. “I trust you, Harry Potter, not because I am Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, or Headmaster of this school, but because I am human, and you deserve trust.”

I began to move away, but a few words from him gave me pause. “Professor? That troll, from Halloween, that was because of Voldemort, wasn’t it?”

“There are many forces of evil in this world, Harry.” I said, gravely. “But Hogwarts is particularly accosted by Voldemort, and I fear your presence may have drawn him closer.” It was a non-answer, giving something that resembled one without confirming or denying anything.

“You don’t have to worry, Professor.” Harry said, and he looked back and met my gaze, mouth twisted into a full smirk by this point. “Voldemort can’t kill me.”

I realized that all this time I’d been wrong. In those flashes of description, in his words and movements, I wasn’t seeing Tom Riddle in Harry at all: I was seeing Voldemort himself.


	15. An Otherwise Perfect Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to more Slytherin hijinks, and a few steps backward in time to begin catching up to the Mirror of Erised's troublesome time skips. The Twins won't be getting much attention this year, but don't worry: I have plans for them. Oh, I have plans for them all. *ominous laughter*

Let’s make this perfectly clear, I hated Ron Weasley. He was lazy, boorish, brutish, uncultured, uneducated swine, who somehow ended up in Ravenclaw with an unfair amount of magical power and some upperclass friends coming out of woodwork that presented an annoying barrier. Even Marcus Flynt told the rest of Slytherin dorm that Weasley was off limits, and how exactly the red haired ponce managed that, I haven’t the faintest idea. I didn’t think my hatred of Ron Weasley could flare hotter until I witnessed his routine disrespect of Hermione in the classes they shared.

“She’s a nightmare. It’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends.”

For an instant, I had my wand in my hand before I forced myself to slip it up my sleeve once again.

I was not often present for their interactions, since we were from three different houses, but when I was, it offered a stellar test of my discipline not to beat him into unconsciousness. Hermione tried to play it off, but I could tell it bothered her, which presented me with a problem: how could I enact justice on Weasley without fear of repercussion?

It needed to be damaging, but not physical or the teachers would be forced to investigate. I needed to hide my identity but not my displeasure, and it needed to be embarrassing enough that some of his support would bleed away. Slowly, details of the plan began to form in my mind.

My mental checklist went as follows:

Find a way to get close to the Ravenclaw table at lunch.  
Arrange a few of the energetic gossips to pass by a specific location at a certain time.  
Find a temporary means to lock a door, muggle methods would probably work as I doubted Weasley had read ahead in his Charms textbook.  
Brew a Congorno potion.

This last included the subsections for, ‘find ingredients to brew a Congorno potion’ and, upon reviewing who among the students might have those ingredients eventually splitting into the other two missions of, ‘convince Snape to let me use a few ingredients.’ And ‘convince the Weasley twins to let me borrow some of their ingredients to help me enact revenge on their brother.’

Finding a way to get close to the Ravenclaw table was actually the easiest part. “Here’s your notes back, thanks for letting me borrow them.” With few exceptions, Ravenclaws would cooperate on any school based request given, and I counted on that for more than one occasion.

The gossips, too, were easily handled. “Second floor girls’ bathroom, after the feast, if you wanted to see something juicy.” It might not attract all of them, true, but two or three was more than enough.

I discovered a way to wedge a chair under the bathroom door handle, taking care of the lock problem, which left only the Congorno potion.

“And why, precisely, do you require elderbloom mushrooms?” Snape asked, the question accompanied by a single raised eyebrow.

“Ronald Weasley has slandered me and mine.” I informed him. “I am delivering a warning for him to change his actions.”

Snape turned his back to me, gesturing to his ingredients. “On the third shelf two from the right, there is a jar of eldergleam moss. Please fetch it for me.”

I nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Professor.” I gave him the moss, making sure to take the mushrooms right next to them and walked out before he could turn around. This was how Slytherins did things. I wouldn’t be able to point fingers at Snape if I was ever caught and he was able to help me with some protection.

Next came the hardest part on my list: the Weasley twins. I had asked around beforehand, and found a few aspects of their personality that might be useful. Apparently, despite being only third years, they had managed to rack up quite the reputation as pranksters in their stay at Hogwarts, equal opportunity pranksters, thank Merlin. If they only pranked Slytherins, I would be straight out of luck.

It took some time, but I managed to track them down in a classroom not too far from the Gryffindor common room. By the expressions on their faces, they knew it was an advantageous spot and chose it specifically for that reason. I may need to reevaluate my opinion of Weasleys in Slytherin, at least for those two.

“Oi, Fred, we have a visitor.” The first said, slapping the other on the shoulder.

“Do we George? Who could it be?” What must have been Fred replied, looking up at his twin.

“Seems to be a snake firstie.” George reported, eyeing me without directly acknowledging me.

“What would he want from little old us?” Fred asked his counterpart.

I chose that moment to interject. “Maybe you should ask him.” I suggested.

Their eyebrows furrowed in mock thought. “Well there’s an idea.” George said.

“Quite novel.” Fred added.

“What do you want?” The two said together, finally looking at me.

“Radiroc feathers.” I answered, and waited for them to exchange glances.

“And what makes you think we have them?” George asked.

“We are simple students.” Fred faux-admitted.

“Third years.” George added.

“Why would we have such a potion ingredient?” Fred asked.

“And more importantly.” Said George.

“Why would you want it?” They both asked at the same time.

“There’s a... student.” No need to reveal that it was their brother, I thought. “Who routinely disrespects my friend. I’m going to persuade him to stop.” I thought for a moment, then added. “With a Congorno potion.”

The twins’ eyes lit with mischief. “A prank?” Fred voiced aloud.

“A Slytherin prank?” George echoed.

“I’ve always wanted to see how they worked.” Fred passed back.

“So what’s the plan?” George asked me this time.

I considered the pair before deciding to reveal at least part of my plan. “On Halloween, I’m going to slip the potion into his food at lunch. I already have spelled robes I can swap out for his normal ones, and I’m going to trick him into the girl’s bathroom by switching the signs. I have a few gossips ready to be there after the feast and a way to wedge the door closed so he won’t escape before then. No Halloween feast, an... embarrassing enchantment to his robes, and caught by gossips leaving the girl’s bathroom seems like an adequate punishment, and that’s before factoring in the messiness of the Congorno potion.”

“Complicated.” Fred remarked.

“Elaborate.” George agreed.

“Think it’ll work?”

“Hard to tell.”

“All those moving parts.”

“Only one way to find out.”

I honestly lost track of who said what there because they began pacing and swapping places as they spoke. One of them pressed Radiroc feathers into my hands. “If this goes well, maybe we’ll speak again.” He told me.

“And if it doesn’t...” his twin waggled a finger before they both spoke at once.

“We were never here.” I left the twins, feathers in hand, and a feeling like I’d just escaped a tiger cage.

With all the items in hand, the potion was brewed, the gossips in place, I’d managed the robe swap with the assistance of a bribe in one or two places, and by returning the notes, I was able to slip the Congorno potion into Ron Weasley’s pumpkin juice. Ron felt sick not long after the end of the meal and by swapping the signs to the boy’s and girl’s bathroom I managed to funnel him to the correct one. I wedged the door with a chair, swapped the signs back, put up a note saying that bathroom was being cleaned, and walked off with a whistle to write some essays before the Halloween feast.

For all the twins said there were so many moving parts to my plan, every one of them went off without a hitch. They may have underestimated me, but I was never in doubt of my ability to pull off a simple plan. I mean, seriously, what did they think would happen?

“Troll in the dungeon.” Quirrel shouted out as he burst into the room, before mumbling something and collapsing.

Bugger.


	16. Grounded in Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole Harry and the brooms dynamic might be my new favorite things and it came right out of nowhere for me. I didn't plan that, it just happened.
> 
> Also, Hermione is great but I never want to downplay just how much she needs and values friends, even in canon. It's a great part of her character I don't like to see ignored. I think everyone can relate to that kind of loneliness at some part of their lives.

I could tell Draco was angry at Ron, that much was obvious even without hearing his thoughts. It was clear in the way his grip tightened whenever the Gryffindor was around, in the expressionless mask that wasn’t quite polished enough he put on his face instead of the glare he wanted, in how his teeth clenched and he held himself from speaking. Draco was disciplined, serious, but he wasn’t an adult, no matter how much he pretended at times.

I did wonder what Ron did to him to make him so upset, though. He was hurtful to me, but I’d never seen him hold specific animosity against Draco. Were the general barbs he made against Slytherin’s enough? I didn’t think Draco would take that too personally, but it could have been a sore spot somehow.

I would have asked him about it, or heard his thoughts in either case, but it had been a few days since we had time to see each other for any length of time. There was a crunch of work before Halloween where the Gryffindors and Slytherins didn’t share any classes, and I had a particular problem with one of my subjects that grew increasingly infuriating: learning how to ride a broom.

Madame Hooch was a competent teacher, I would never say anything against her, but the practice of broom riding was the most insane and backwards thing I had thus far encountered in the wizarding world, and they still had eugenics advocates in vocal spots of the government. This opinion was further exacerbated by the lack of any useful text on the subject of broom riding, forcing me to read a children’s book called Morgana’s First Broom, with frankly unhelpful illustrations.

At first, I had class with the other Slytherins and Draco did what he could to help me, but after a few, broom riding became once every other week, so we could alternate with the other houses. The unfortunate reality of this was that it had been nearly two months and I still couldn’t keep in the air for more than a few seconds.

Madame Hooch had tried her best and the library was, for once, unhelpful, so I would need to seek assistance elsewhere. Draco was occupied, so my broom instructor would need to be someone else. I just needed to find someone at the very least competent in riding a broom, then convince them to teach me: easy. There was no way I’d fail a class in my first year.

I was sure I’d be able to trade tutoring for another subject in exchange for the lessons, but it turned out that finding a suitable teacher was the hardest part. It needed to be a first year, so I could credibly trade the tutoring in another subject. It had to be someone who was good on a broom, not just slightly better than me. It also needed to be someone who had time to both give and receive lessons, so they couldn’t be hanging out with friends all the time.

But where could I find a first year, friendless, broom prodigy?

A blur shaped like Harry Potter zoomed past the window I was reading beside, and I felt a satisfied grin bloom across my face. The Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of Voldemort, and current first year Hufflepuff, was almost too perfect a match for my requirements. Now all I had to do was approach him.

I ran outside, onto the quidditch pitch, just in time to see him land, cooing something appreciative to the school broom he held gently in his hand. Okay, now is probably a good time to talk about Harry Potter, or rather, what I thought of him at the time.

While Draco was odd, Harry was unbelievably, inarguably, weird. He wasn’t scared of anything, but he still respected authority, albeit loosely. He accepted punishments but not restrictions, taking detention for wandering in the forbidden third floor corridor. Despite being in dangerous situations, like the acromantula attack, he managed to escape without so much as a scratch while I got bruised knees from the ordeal and Draco had blisters all over his hands. Harry had one or two people that were friendly toward him, but no actual friends, and I’d see him in the halls alone far more often than not. This, was all strange but it was two things that clinched the ‘weird’ dynamic: number one, he talked to brooms. I had heard that he was some kind of broom prodigy, and even saved Susan Bones during Hufflepuff’s first class, but as far as I knew he was the only one to actually speak to them and it was definitely unsettling. Number two, Harry Potter was one of four people I couldn’t hear the thoughts of, the other three being Professor Snape, Professor Quirrel, and Professor Dumbledore, all of which were adults.

This was even more upsetting as it solidified him as an unpleasant anomaly, a blank in my brain. I didn’t know anything about him I hadn’t observed myself or read in a book, and this was the first time I would meet him face to face. I had no idea what to say to him, he was... were his glasses held together by tape? I raised a wand, and his gaze slid to it with curiosity but no concern. “I’m sorry, may I?” He shrugged and I waved and intoned. “Oculus Reparo.” Before his glasses were mended.

He took the glasses off and squinted down at them, then put them back on and squinted down at me, then grinned in a way I wasn’t used to seeing from him. It wasn’t malevolent, but it gave me a chill, nonetheless. “Brilliant. I’ve been trying to find someone to teach me repairing charms for ages now.” He held out a hand and gave mine a vigorous shake when I took it. “I’m Harry Potter.”

I blinked before remembering my manners and introducing myself in a like fashion. “Hermione Granger.”

He dropped his hands before reaching one vaguely in the direction of his discarded broom and commanding, “up.” Before the broom leapt to his grasp. “I’m guessing you didn’t come to see me just because of my glasses.” He said, grin falling at this point into a more reserved general amusement.

Spurred by the implied question of ‘why are you here,’ I tracked back to my original request. “I need to learn how to fly a broom.” I informed him. “I was hoping you could teach me.”

“Sure.” He easily acquiesced, holding an arm out so the broom he was riding on was facing me and taking a few big steps backward. “Take the broom from my hand without moving.”

It was a simple request, and impossible, besides. “What? I don’t know any summoning charms, how am I supposed to get the broom?”

“Do you remember your first lesson with Madame Hooch? How she told you to stand next to a broom and say ‘up’?” He asked and I nodded in response, frustrated by my continued inability to even do that much. “That’s not a spell or charm. There’s really nothing to learn there.” He wiggled the broom. “The broom is here, you need it there, so ask it.” He considered for a moment, then added. “Nicely.”

I scoffed, skeptical. “‘Nicely’?” I parroted back.

“Especially to Judy, here.” He gestured to the broomstick. “She’s a bit prideful.”

Ah, so Harry was insane. That made sense, then. I supposed being cursed and defeating a dark wizard at the ripe age of one, then hiding away for a decade would put a strain on anyone’s mind. Still, he clearly knew what he was doing on a broom, so I’d humor him for a bit. Maybe he was just eccentric? Yeah, that’s something prodigies were, sometimes; I could get behind that. I held out a hand and intoned. “Up.”

The broom didn’t move. Who am I kidding, it didn’t even twitch. Harry raised an eyebrow in the universal language of, ‘are you serious?’

I cleared my throat and tried again, with authority. “Up.” If anything, the broom shrunk further into Harry’s hand, making me growl in frustration. “Why isn’t it working?”

“Brooms don’t like the ground.” Harry answered, tapping a foot down on the grass where we currently stood. “That’s why they’re on it for the first lesson. You don’t have to do much to convince them to jump to your hands. When I’m holding it, it’s different, though. Judy trusts me, and she has no reason to trust you. Give her that reason, and I’ll teach you.”

My eyes narrowed and I breathed in and out before a smile lifted my face. All of Harry’s weirdness, all of the absurdity of naming a school broom, all of my frustration at being unable to ride one fell away. This was a teacher administering a test, and I never flunked a test.

The premise of the test was that brooms were alive, in some way, and had the ability to trust or mistrust a user. Currently, broom designation ‘Judy’ mistrusts me because of its comfortable position and proud disposition. The test would be completed when I stirred Judy to my hand.

“Come to me. I can be a far better rider than he ever could.” I tried to convince the broom, but the waver in my voice where I wasn’t entirely convinced, myself, was clearly evident. The broom didn’t move. “I can wax you, trim your brushes, keep you in repair. Could Harry do any of that?” Still nothing. “I can read you books, we can go up in the clouds and I can tell you about transfiguration theory, or the history of Hogwarts.” Nothing. It was one thing to fail a test, but quite another to realize I had nothing of any worth to offer a broom. It was so silly, but all of the little jabs and taunts Ron Weasley had directed at me, all those times he wanted to be sure I knew what he thought of me, came rushing to my head. For a moment, I was so small.

Anger flashed through my being like vicious wildfire, and a cold logic seethed in my mind to match. “You are just one broom, and a school broom, no less. Harry already uses the other brooms. He talks to them. He spends time with them. How long will it be until your enchantments start wearing out? How long until a bad turn snaps your handle? If you really are alive, do you die if you break, or do they toss you in the trash while you can still feel everything?” I hated that broom. I hated that flying was on the curriculum, hated how bad I was at it. I hated that I was in a school for magic where knowledge quite literally equaled power, yet my only friends were a single Slytherin and a second year Ravenclaw I’d only spoken with twice.

The fire left my veins, the ice left my brain, and a creeping emptiness replaced both. I gave a sigh, clenching and unclenching my hands a few times before speaking again. “I’m sorry... Judy.” I finally said her name aloud. “You could be alive, you could just be a couple enchantments strung together by wizards in a factory, but it doesn’t matter. I know books aren’t, but I still treat them with dignity and respect: there is no reason I shouldn’t show the same to you.” I gave a deep bow and held out a hand. “I don’t know how to ride a broom, and there’s no guarantee Harry can teach me, but if he tries, I promise it will be you I practice with... if you’ll let me.”

I felt the wooden handle pressed into my palm and looked up to see Harry, still standing a few feet away. “First lesson done.” He said, moving forward and patting me on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow...” he trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Hermione?” I more asked than introduced, sure I did so earlier.

He nodded, smiling. “Hermione, see you tomorrow. Get to know Judy a bit, alright?” After that, he walked away, any further comments lost to the silence of my unhearing ears.

I stared down at the broom, seemingly lifeless in my grip, and for once I had no idea what was fact or fiction. A disbelieving laugh bubbled from my lips. I supposed Halloween was as good a time for that to happen as any.

It took me a little while to wonder how Harry had gotten into the broom sheds that were usually closed to any students not on the quidditch team. It took me a while after that to wonder if my holding onto Judy was breaking school rules.

In any case, I made it up to Gryffindor tower and into my room without being stopped, so I drew the curtains on my four-poster and sat crosslegged with the broom on my lap.

I’m not quite sure what I expected, if I wanted it to move around, or speak, or just to feel something within, to prove it was alive, but it was the same lifeless thing it always was.

It was silly, but I didn’t want to fail my new teacher, so despite my doubts I began talking anyway. It helped that the girls’ rooms in Gryffindor tower were empty besides me. I don’t think I could have been persuaded to talk to it if the place was packed, especially since the other girls didn’t, strictly speaking, like me.

“Well, I suppose introductions are in order.” I began, clearing my throat and trying not to look at the object in my lap. It made it a little easier to pretend it was alive when I wasn’t seeing how it clearly wasn’t. “My name is Hermione Granger. I’m a first year Gryffindor student and... and I don’t really know what I’m doing.” I sighed, gripping the broom a little tighter. “I’m deaf, which means I’ll always be a little different, even in the wizarding world. I can’t hear what I sound like, so I have trouble adjusting the pitch and volume of my voice, and that makes casting new spells a challenge of its own.” I gave a quiet chuckle, made without humor. “If it wasn’t for this ‘legilimency’, I probably wouldn’t manage it at all.” I paused, looking down at my lap. “Oh, you probably don’t know, but I can hear people’s thoughts, if they meet my eyes. It’s not always fun. Actually, it’s never fun, but some days with it are better than others. Draco’s usually pretty careful with what he says, but his thoughts are much more open. I’m not sure I’d ever be friends with him if I couldn’t hear what he really meant, and that...” I shook my head, eyes closing. “I don’t think I could do it again, live through another school without any friends. Ron Weasley makes me want to curl up and cry already, without Draco I feel like I might just give in to that.” The thought of Draco made a pit form in my stomach, a hollowness I couldn’t displace. “Draco isn’t my first friend, and I worry, sometimes.” I held the broom tight against myself, withdrawing into myself. “He hardly knows me.” I said in a whisper. “What if he leaves too?”

Judy made no reply.

By the time I’d made my way down to the great hall, the Halloween feast was already underway. Draco stood up from the Slytherin table and made his way over to me, a mischievous smile coating his face. He looked into my eyes and I heard, “can’t wait to show her.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the doors flew open, and Professor Quirrel staggered in. “Troll in the dungeon.” I read from his lips, his eyes still giving me that unsettling blank. “Thought you ought to know.”

Quirrel collapsed and before a single beat passed, Draco had grabbed my arm and was pulling me out of the great hall. I looked up at him for an explanation, but paused when I saw his face, blanched paler than even his usual complexion.

When we’d finally slowed our walk, I demanded an explanation and he swallowed roughly before responding. “Alright, first off, I’d like to say everything in my plan went off without a hitch.”

“You set a troll loose in Hogwarts?” I yelled in disbelief.

“No, the troll was an outside factor I could not reasonably have been expected to prepare for.” Draco corrected, clearly flustered by the ordeal.

“So what did you do?” I pressed, and he gave a nervous chuckle.

“I trapped Ron Weasley in the girl’s bathroom by giving him a Cognorno potion.” He answered, quickly.

“A Congorno potion?” I spluttered. “That’s supposed to be for medical use only.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, ‘medically’ Ron Weasley should be vomiting up a storm by now, and he has no idea about the tr-“ we jerked to a stop and Draco shoved us against a wall, pressing flat as the troll barely didn’t notice us, walking into the girl’s bathroom. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Naturally, the troll goes there.”

“We need to get a teacher.” I bolted to the right before coming to a sudden stop as Draco yanked back on my robe collar.

He waited for me to face him again before speaking. “We need to find a way to distract the troll long enough to get Weasley out. We don’t have much time, and looking around for a teacher would only waste it.”

I gestured furiously at the troll. “That thing is bigger than Hagrid, how do you want to distract it?”

He held up what looked like a letter opener, but removing it from its sheath revealed a full sized saber. “Very carefully.” He answered, turning to the bathroom and charging ahead, sword held high.

I had to follow, to make sure he didn’t get himself killed, but when the troll finally came into view, I couldn’t think of a single spell I would be able to use against it.

The troll turned to me and I couldn’t even hear myself scream.


	17. A Near-Death Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The encounter with the troll, besides being a serviceable action scene in it's own right, is also really the point in canon where the golden trio's friendship is solidified, and I think that's important to address, even in AU. Also, CHRISTMAS!

What is wrong with me? I thought, my feet taking me at a full sprint toward the scream. I should have been going back to my dorm, or exploring the forbidden Third Floor Corridor, at least, but what was I doing? I was running toward where the troll almost certainly was to save a bunch of students the teachers were probably already helping. This was a waste of time, of effort, so why couldn’t I stop running?

I ducked into the girl’s bathroom without a second thought. The most I’d get would be detention and some mockery, but I’d already had that and it wasn’t too bad. The first thing I saw was Malfoy tackling Hermione to the ground as the troll’s club swung overhead, barely avoiding turning them both into a discolored smear. Weasley was in the background, throwing bits of the broken bathroom stalls in an attempt to distract it, then dodging to the side when its club swung to squash him as well.

Well, they seemed to have things well in hand, so I turned away.

“Harry?” Hermione called. “What are you doing here?”

Bugger.

The question brought the troll’s attention back to her, and his club slammed down toward her prone form. Before I could take another breath, I was there, arms raised above me right before the club impacted. A flickering of light shimmered around me as the impact drove me partially into the floor, but still keeping Hermione and Malfoy from a gruesome end.

“Get out of here, you lot. I can handle this.” Weasley shouted, ducking under a wide sweep.

Malfoy dug a thin gash into the creature’s back while it was distracted, eliciting a guttural scream. “Typical Ravenclaw.” He grunted. “Always going on about how much better they are than anyone else.”

Malfoy dived backwards, as the troll made to grab him and Weasley huffed, disbelievingly. “Me? What about her?” He jabbed a finger at Hermione who was firing stinging hexes with minimal effect on its thick hide. “She’s always going off on how I’m doing everything wrong. It’s levi-o-sa, not levio-sa.” He mockingly recited, echoing some former grievance. “I don’t need you to tell me I’m stupid, I have an entire house for that.”

Hermione grunted, bits of floor and tile showering her as she narrowly avoided the club again. “I was trying to help you, and you gave me nothing for it but abuse, every day. I can’t even hear, and you made sure I knew you were talking about me behind my back.”

“That’s why you’re here in the first place.” Malfoy revealed, digging into the trolls arm with a heavy slash. “I figured if you got humiliated, yourself, you’d leave Hermione alone.”

“You what?” Hermione asked, hands on her hips and head crooked at Malfoy.

I sighed. Why did I even come here?

“I thought you were angry at him for insulting the Slytherins.” Hermione said, quietly.

I intercepted another attack meant for Malfoy as he answered. “What? I don’t give a rat’s arse about the Slytherins, but I’m not going to just let him get away with hurting my friend.”

Hermione’s eyes watered as I jumped onto the troll to wrap my arms around his thick neck. “Thank you.” She whispered.

“I’d do it again.” Draco assured her. “Even if it ends up this way.” His eyebrows furrowed, gesturing to Weasley. “I mean, the charm on his robes didn’t even go off.”

As if on cue, Weasley’s robes flashed and turned a garish bright pink. He looked down at it, mouth curling into a frown. “Really?”

The troll finally managed to grab me and throw me into the far wall, creating an almost comical indent of my body. “I don’t suppose we could continue this conversation later?” I snarked, falling down and onto my face.

“He’s gotta have a weakness.” Weasley called out. “Does anyone know anything about trolls?”

“What’s to know?” I asked, rubbing my nose to try and get some feeling back into it. “They’re big, dumb, and currently trying to kill us.”

“They’re magic resistant.” Malfoy answered, passing over what I said. “We need to hit him with something big, maybe stun him long enough to get away.”

Hermione thought for a few moments, mouthing words before her eyes widened. “Leviosa. That’s it. Ron, use the hovering charm on the troll’s club.”

His wandwork was sloppy, I wasn’t even an expert and I noticed that, but his pronunciation was actually correct. Fancy that. The club slipped from the troll’s grasp even as he tried to swing it, lifted into the air for a few moments, then slammed down on its head. I could practically see the stars circling around its head as it swayed one way, then the next, until I had to dive to push Malfoy out of its way, trapping myself under it in the process. For the record, trolls are not the best smelling magical creature in the business, and I had plenty of time to notice this fact from underneath it.

I heard teachers rush in, demanding explanations, then waiting on those explanations to retrieve me. After the troll was lifted and I made it to my feet and patted myself down, Malfoy gave his explanation. “There was another girl, a Hufflepuff somewhere above us, I don’t know exactly who, but she didn’t know about the troll. We all heard her scream so we went to help. The Hufflepuff ran, and we figured out a way to take down the troll. That’s when you came in.” I noticed the sword he had before was conspicuously absent and resolved to ask him about it later. Muggle weapons were something of a rarity at Hogwarts, so if he had one there must have been a reason.

McGonagall raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And can anyone explain why all four of you were in this part of the castle when your rooms are all elsewhere?” Draco opened his mouth, but shut it when no sound came out. McGonagall nodded, smiling. “What about why Mister Weasley seems to be wearing pink robes, does anyone have an answer for that?” She nodded at the continued silence. “For rescuing a student in distress, I will give each of you fifty points. I don’t know any details beyond that, so all of you get back to your rooms while we try and find out how a troll got loose.”

We all filed out of the room and Weasley gave a cheer as we left. “I can’t believe we got house points for that.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. Since we’re all from different houses, it doesn’t change the lead in the slightest.” Malfoy observed. “We could all get points together for days and we’d never change the lead, just the total.”

“Well, that’s the same if we lose points, isn’t it?” I said, and the other three stopped, completely. “What?”

I looked over at Malfoy and Weasley, both with identical grins on their faces, then at Hermione, a worried expression on hers. “You aren’t seriously considering this, are you?”

“Think, Hermione.” Malfoy said, looking into her eyes. “All we’d need is a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff, and we’re practically punishment free.”

Hermione hesitated. “But, breaking the rules, I mean. We just got here. What if they kick us out?”

I raised a hand. “Hermione’s already going to tutor me, and I don’t care about getting in trouble.”

Malfoy smiled. “There’s no way Dumbledore’s gonna let Harry Potter get kicked out, and he can’t let anyone who’s with him out either, or it’ll look like favoritism. Besides, this is to protect us for when we have to break the rules. Remember Hagrid?”

A flicker of emotion passed across Hermione’s face, then her expression morphed into a determined one. She nodded, once. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

Three pairs of eyes turned toward Weasley, and he sighed, robe only now fading back from its pink hue. He pointed a sharp finger at Malfoy. “I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you.” He said to start, but before Malfoy could protest, he continued. “You guys saved my life, though, and I am really sorry about how I’ve been treating you.” He directed this last to Hermione. “I’ve been a prat and if Luna were here, she’d be kicking my arse right about now.”

I put my hand in, like I’d seen in whatever action movies Dudley was watching while I cleaned. Hermione did the same, and eventually Malfoy and Weasley followed. I barely knew any of them, but that didn’t matter. If they wanted to be friends with me, it was convenient enough. I was going to break into the restricted section soon, anyway.

“We should meet up next week so I can start teaching you repairing charms.” Hermione told me, but I shook my head.

“Can’t do next week. I have a Quidditch game.” I answered, offhandedly.

Weasley laughed. “The ‘Puff team must be hard up for players, to recruit a first year. What position do you play?”

I wracked my brain for a few moments, trying to remember what Cedric called it. Finally, I snapped my fingers. “Ah, it was Searcher, I think.”

Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “Searcher? Sear-you mean Seeker.”

Weasley gasped. “You’re a Seeker?”

“I take it you’re a fan?” Malfoy remarked, dryly.

Weasley leaned against one wall, eyes wide. “That-that would make you the youngest seeker in a century, and you replaced Cedric Diggory, too, so that means you’re better than him and it’s only your first year. How?”

I shrugged. “To be fair, Seeker isn’t Cedric’s best position, and I think I got it mostly because we did a few practice games and I was willing to pull bigger stunts to grab the Lynx, or whatever it is.”

“Snitch.” Hermione corrected, automatically. “Wait, I hope this doesn’t mean you want me to be doing stunts when you’re teaching me to ride a broom, does it?”

“Not unless you want me to.” I answered. “I don’t know any healing spells yet.”

Hermione shuddered and the conversation continued for a little while longer before we eventually parted ways to make it back to our respective dorms.

All in all, Quidditch went well.

With an expert whack, Cedric parried a bludger away from the Hufflepuff keeper and broke up the Ravenclaw team’s formation, allowing someone else I hadn’t bothered remembering the names of to intercept the quaffle and score. I’d seen Cedric as a seeker, and he beat out most of the competition with a healthy margin, but when he got a beater’s club in his hand, it was somehow like all of that kindness and positive energy he gave off took on a menacing aura, and I wouldn’t at all have been surprised if this threw off the Ravenclaws at their game even without adding in his insane shot placement.

William, my broom, was content for the most part to sail lazily above the action, until, suddenly, when it wasn’t. William gave a jerk, and I stared down at him with a raised eyebrow, placing my bare hand down on it, I felt the magic flowing through it, but also a sliver of something else. I could feel an imperfection that wasn’t there before, a corruption in the broom’s energy. The broom shook and twisted by the corruption’s influence and I gripped it tighter.

Far below, I saw the telltale glint of gold the snitch represented, flicking through the air, unbeknownst to the Ravenclaw seeker. “Sorry, William. Safe landings.” With those parting words, I relaxed my grip on the broom and slipped off. “Cedric,” I called, “bludger.”

With a sharp cracking sound, the deadly cannonball was heading my way, and I just barely managed to catch myself on it as it followed the path Cedric forcefully applied to it. The bludger regained control fifteen feet or so off the ground and I swung myself to the side, making a grab for the snitch before settling for swallowing it. I tumbled on the grass a few times, unharmed, then choked on the pernicious golden orb, finally spitting it out into my hand.

“Harry Potter has caught the golden snitch.” The announcer excitedly announced. “Hufflepuff wins, two hundred and ten points to thirty, absolutely crushing Ravenclaw in their debut match.”

William descended into my waiting hand and my team flooded the field with congratulations. Cedric gestured to my broom with a warning motion. “Harry, that school broom could’ve gotten you killed. I’ll loan you some galleons, but I want you to have one of your own by our next match, alright?”

I nodded, vaguely, feeling William bristle in my grasp. I wasn’t quite sure why he cared, honestly. We won the match, and I ended up fine. I was never even in any danger, not that he knew that. I chalked it up as one of those eccentricities Cedric displayed from time to time and put it out of my mind. Maybe he just wanted me to get a different broom so I could go faster, I didn’t know.

Hermione, Ron, and Draco also congratulated me on my victory, Ron doing most of the congratulating and Hermione mostly scolding me for recklessness. I was picking up my lessons from her fairly quickly, though she grew frustrated sometimes when she looked into my eyes especially, and she would shake a hand through her bushy hair and whisper some lament to her unhearing ears. I could only repair my glasses and mend some small tears in fabric, but I was happy for any progress in the area, and slowly but surely I taught her what I knew of riding a broom.

“So I just tell it to go faster?” She asked me, skeptically, holding Judy tightly in her hands.

“You ask her to do pretty much everything.” I informed her, sagely. “She has significantly more experience flying than you do. Now gently set yourself on top of Judy and tell her you’d like to hover for a little while. She’s been cooped up in your room for so long, she’s probably eager to do anything.”

She gingerly mounted the broom and, after clearing her throat a few times, finally asked. “Can you hover for me, please?” Almost tenderly, Judy lifted her into the air and despite Hermione squeezing her eyes shut and gripping the broom with enough force to make even me wince, Judy didn’t buck or speed high into the air, but hovered a few feet off the ground, waiting for Hermione to grow comfortable in her new position. When she finally opened her eyes, she gasped and a grin swept across her face. Experimentally, she leaned to one side, then the next, and Judy followed, drifting along with her. A strangled laugh erupted from Hermione’s throat before she finally whispered. “Thank you.” I knew, even without asking, that it wasn’t directed at me, but her broomstick.

I helped her with clear directions for a while after that and when the session was over, Judy lowered to the ground before returning to her hand. She thanked me for the lesson and ran to her other studies, still keeping Judy in her grip. If Madame Hooch had noticed one of the school brooms hadn’t been returned, she never mentioned it to me, so I was content with letting Hermione and Judy spend more time together. I didn’t know about Hermione, but Judy seemed to have grown attached to the brown haired Gryff’.

With Draco, Ron and Hermione in tow, I broke into the restricted section, chasing up some lead on Nicholas Flamel, a person Hermione had an interest in to satisfy her curiosity, and Draco had an interest in for different reasons. Ron was there because he’d rather not be working, and because he was avoiding Cho Chang for reasons I didn’t care enough about to ask.

By the time Christmas rolled around, we’d studied together, played some wizarding games, and broken into the restricted section a few more times, as well as my showing off the dog in the third floor corridor, which was similarly not allowed.

I wasn’t familiar with gift giving practices, which, somehow, Draco managed to pick up on and advise me somewhat. As a result, I gave Hermione a broom repair kit, to keep her in Judy’s good graces, Ron a complete chess set made of white and dark chocolate, and Draco a set of dragonhide gloves I found in my family vault to ease his blistered hands, which were technically illegal to own, but Draco didn’t mind and thanked me for the gift.

Meanwhile, from Hermione I received a book titled ‘Living Legend: the tale of Harry Potter,’ apparently featuring information on my family and the events leading to the end of the war. It was dry, in parts, but I appreciated the thought, and I found particularly what they said of my parents provided some good leads on my condition. From Ron, his mother knitted me a woolen jumper, even though the cold couldn’t kill me and didn’t bother me besides, I found it useful for fabric repair practice. From Draco, I was given an exceptionally valuable tome on dark arts he said might be useful for my research on Voldemort. All in all, my best Christmas yet.

But I did receive one other present, and this one perturbed me the most. An anonymous note proclaimed it belonged to my father, though Hermione’s book made no reference to it. It was a simple cloak, without adornment or design, but when I touched it I felt an unbearable hollowness inside it. Brooms, wands, even the portraits in the halls I felt life in their magic, some verve of being, but this cloak was so incredibly empty, I couldn’t process it. Even inanimate objects, I felt something, but this wasn’t even that. I held it in front of my face, felt the fabric on my fingers, but I couldn’t convince myself it was even real. Nothing. I felt nothing from that cloak.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

I felt death.


	18. A Quick Shift to Peril

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I'm not saying everyone's names have to factor in to their character somehow, but I do find it a little odd that in a book series that has both dragons and a character named Draco and not once do the two even come close to interacting.
> 
> In any case, we're heading into the end of first year so things are gonna get pretty screwy, bear with me. Some questions will be answered and for others? Well, maybe in year two. I dunno.

Growing up with a dark family, you’d think I’d be prepared for dangerous situations. Training with my father, being careful around cursed memorabilia, and learning dark spells and potions, I’d certainly experienced my fair share of fear and pain. But there was a third element to danger that it’s very difficult to become accustomed to, no matter how many times it happens, and that’s the simple fact that your condition, being safe or being in peril, can change much faster than is comfortable.

One minute, I’m walking around my basement, the next, I’m running from a shadow beast trapped in an amber jewel. One minute, I’m executing a perfect prank, the next, I’m fighting a troll. One minute, I’m having a chat with the friendly groundskeeper, the next, he’s laying a dragon egg on the table.

“Hagrid.” Hermione gasped, scandalized. “Privately owning a dragon is illegal.”

“I don’t own ‘em, Hermione.” Hagrid differed. “He’s ‘is own dragon, aren’t ya, Norbert?” He asked, the newly hatched dragon, who had taken it upon itself to set his beard on fire.

I took a surreptitious scoot backwards in my chair, but it seemed Hermione noticed. She shot me a quizzical expression, but understanding dawned on her after a few seconds meeting my gaze.

I was afraid of dragons.

It wasn’t just the reasonable fear of being in a room with something that could set you on fire or eat you, this was a baby dragon and I still felt terrified. Every movement and twitch made me flinch as I worried it would turn toward me. This was unreasonable, irrational, and I couldn’t stop it.

“You alright, there, Draco? Ye’re lookin a bit pale. Paler than usual, at least.” The half-... Hagrid, had taken to calling me by my first name. I didn’t mind it usually, as curiously enough the name ‘Malfoy’ seemed only to be used when people were speaking poorly of me, which didn’t give it the respect it deserved. Still, since I could do nothing about that, the convenience of categorizing was useful enough. Hear ‘Draco,’ someone’s happy with me, hear ‘Malfoy,’ someone’s unhappy with me. Simple.

I felt Hermione’s hand on my back, as she grabbed my arm and guided me out the door. “He just needs some fresh air, we’ll be right back.” She assured Hagrid as my breathing got easier with every step we took away from the pint-sized terror. “Are you okay?” She asked once my pulse made it back to reasonable levels.

“I don’t...” I struggled to find the word, “like dragons.” She nodded and I continued. “Even baby dragons, I can’t even be in the same room as them.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that.” She answered, dryly. Hermione was far too good at reading my emotions. I’d have to practice that emotionless shield my mother often wore. We stood in silence for a while, before she finally asked. “Do you want to leave?”

“No.” I nearly shouted, startling her with my emotion. I cleared my throat, forcefully straightening my back. “No. This is just another obstacle. I can’t leave. That’s not the Malfoy way.”

After taking another minute to psych myself up, I walked back inside and stared the dragon in the face with a straight back. Then I ran outside again and threw up on the grass. Still, a commendable effort, I’d say.

“Let’s go back to the library.” Hermione suggested, patting me on the back, and I lacked the strength or will to refuse her. She said a quick goodbye to Hagrid, saying I ‘wasn’t feeling well’ and we made our way inside and away from that dreadful beast.

Of course, it would have been foolish to return, so my visits with Hagrid were temporarily suspended while we worked with proper authorities to find a home for the newly hatched dragon.

That would be what I’d say if I were sane and rational at the time, which it seems I wasn’t. Apparently, spending so much time with a Gryffindor had rotted my brains to the point I thought I could get over my irrational fear if I just kept forcing myself to return, to see it.

I was spending yet another evening retching on the grass as Hermione rubbed circles around my back and made comforting noises, throwing the occasional ‘evanesco’ my way to clean up the sick. She’d gotten quite good at those after a while, a fact I was thankful for. Once I was done, we would sit on the grass and look up at the stars, Hermione passing me the food she’d begun taking from dinner to ‘replenish my reserves’ as it were.

“I’m really worried about that dr-“ Hermione saw me flinch and amended, “Norbert.” She said, passing me another roll topped with butter and mashed potatoes. “It’s illegal for Hagrid to even own, and it’s getting so big.” Another flinch. “Well, I mean, I just think we need to move it to another home.”

I bit into the food, chewing thoughtfully. I always kept water nearby, but the taste of bile never went away without something to eat. “A noble venture, to be sure, but because it’s so illegal to own a...” I swallowed, harshly, “dragon, we can’t send it through any proper channels without getting Hagrid in trouble.”

Hermione bit her lip, uncertain. “What about Harry and Ron?”

“Harry lives in the muggle world, so there’s no way he has the connections, and we both know where Ron would want to send it.” I told her, and we both shuddered at the thought. Ron had been regaling us recently with stories of his neighbor and the odd animals she kept, as well as the dangerous ways she kept them. “No. Whoever we passed it off to would have to be wealthy, to pay for its increasing costs as it grows, influential, to keep anyone reporting the dragon, and most importantly, it has to be someone Hagrid trusts, since he loves that thing like his own child.”

Hermione considered for a few minutes. “Professor Dumbledore?” She suggested, and I couldn’t suppress a snort.

“Dumbledore has a Phoenix, one of the most powerful magical creatures in the world. I’m not about to hand another one over to him.” The old nutter was dangerous enough as it was. “Besides, it’d just be Hagrid taking care of it anyway, since he’s far too busy to manage one himself.”

“What about the care for magical creatures professor?” Hermione tried, but I shook my head at that option as well.

“No influence. If she got caught with a dragon, that’d be it.” I shot down the idea, trying to think of anyone, myself. “Hagrid doesn’t trust any of the wealthy dark families, so those are out. The Bones’ are out because they’re far too law-abiding, and everyone else is too poor.” I shook my head. “I can’t think of a single family that matches those three criteria.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something. It’s not like he can keep it, he lives in a wooden house for goodness sakes.”

I hummed vaguely in agreement, my mind still stuck on this latest puzzle.

After a while, we retired, no closer to an answer.

First year classes were undeniably difficult. I had no problem with reading, but unlike Hermione, my writing skills were never the greatest, and the sheer amount they assigned bordered on ludicrous. Snape and McGonagall tended more toward practical work, but even they emphasized the importance of homework and study, and don’t even get me started on Quirrel.

He had been teaching for months. Halloween had come and gone. Christmas had passed already. Still, we hadn’t even raised a wand in that class. I already knew Defense Against the Dark Arts was going to be a joke, I just never expected it to be this useless.

If he ever taught anything on the south side of interesting it might have been another story, but every lesson was just the textbook, word for word, it drove me barmy. I had heard rumors the Dark Lord cursed the position to change professors every year, and I never wished for it to be true as much as that year.

At least I didn’t have to worry about the end of year exams for that class. The entire test was on paper and every answer was in the back of the book.

Thankfully, with the minimal amount of practical magic required for the other tests, I managed to pass those as well. As the year began coming to a close, though, I dreaded what the next year would bring.

How long could I go before I couldn’t keep up with the classwork any longer? Another year? Two? How long before they kicked me out for being practically no better than a squib?

I put the thought away, for another time. Exams may have been over, but there was still the closing feast, and Hermione was far too good at ferreting out problems I dwelled on.

After the exam, I became flanked by Hermione, Harry, and Weasley. All the houses had to take the tests at the same time to avoid cheating and unfairness.

“I always heard the end of year Hogwarts exams were rather horrid, but that wasn’t so bad. Professor McGonagall had nothing to worry about,” Hermione said, breathing a quiet sigh of relief I think only I caught.

Ron sagged. “I don’t know about Transfiguration or Charms, but I probably flunked Defense and I definitely failed Potions.” His expression turned fearful after a moment. “They’re not gonna hold me back, are they?”

“Hogwarts doesn’t hold students back, you’ll just have an adjusted workload and more tutoring next year,” Hermione helpfully supplied.

“Plus, hopefully we’ll have a better Defense teacher next year,” I added, “you’ll probably have a better time learning when you get a teacher that actually teaches something.”

Ron seemed placated at the information, and walked a little straighter.

“McGonagall was worried about you?” Harry asked, bringing up what Hermione said before. He liked to do that in conversation, I noticed, listening intently for something I never knew.

Hermione hesitated, clearly not eager to talk about it, so I jumped in. “She’s a Gryffindor; of course her head of house would make sure she could pass her exams. Not that Hermione would be particularly bad, I’m pretty sure you finished every paper exam before anyone else could hit the second page.”

Hermione smiled at me, grateful for the interruption. As she looked past me, though, the expression morphed into one of concern. “Harry, what’s wrong? You look awful.”

Actually, now that I looked at Harry, he did seem worse than usual. Definitely paler, a bit sweatier, and he reached up to his scar and winced far more than usual. “It’s my scar; normally it twinges from time to time, and I can deal with it, but this is something else.”

It was curious to me that someone so apparently invulnerable was bothered by a simple scar, dark magic or no.

“It feels like a warning,” he said, ominously, “like something bad is about to happen.”

Hermione and I exchanged glances before turning back to him, but it seemed he had finished.

Weasley clapped him on the shoulder, that ridiculous red and blue cap on his head he’d taken to wearing presumably after he’d received it at Christmas. It was a wonder none of the teachers banned it, even Snape, though his reason was more on account of the hat being oversized and dipping down to cover his face. According to him, “Mister Weasley’s potions are the same pathetic tripe I’ve come to expect, with or without his latest ornament. As it stands, anything preventing me from seeing his face, I’ll gladly allow.”

“Anyone want to see the chess tournament?” He asked. “We’re in the final rounds, now, so it’s just experts at this point.”

I considered before answering, but ultimately I found chess extremely boring, so, “no, thank you.”

“I’ll go,” Hermione volunteered. It had taken some time for her to even consider forgiving Weasley for the bullying he’d done to her - the jury was still out for me - but particularly with the help of Cho Chang, a second year Ravenclaw she’d met at some point and befriended, Hermione and Weasley had formed some manner of friendship. She had confessed to me that she still found it odd at times to be chatting so casually with her former tormenter, but he seemed to have a wealth of information on magical creatures of some rarity she hadn’t read about just yet, so usually their conversations were engaging.

I privately reserved the right to hex him if it turned out he was making up all these creatures I had never heard of either, but I let it go for the time being. Though I did feel a regrettable twinge of something akin to jealousy whenever she decided to hang out with him instead of me.

I could have looked around for Neville, congratulate him on receiving a passing grade for Potions - he was still nervous, but I told him if he did worse than that I would find a way to release a bludger in his dorm while he was sleeping. Compared to that, an hour or two with Snape hovering around was manageable. But, barring Hermione, I didn’t feel like interacting with people much at that moment, so instead I went to the Slytherin dorms to relax with the book she lent me, some fantastical rendition of a wizard combating a Tibetan yeti. It might not have been entirely true, some elements seemed a bit too farfetched, but I enjoyed it, nonetheless.

I met up with Hermione and the other two for dinner. Apparently, Weasley had won his tournament. I supposed he was a Ravenclaw, but the idea that a Weasley could be adept in anything requiring critical thinking or strategy still seemed rather at odds with what I knew.

The rest of the day was so... normal. Looking back, it’s almost startling how all the laughing and bickering, eating and playing, was all the same as it always was. Because the next day was so... not.

The next day, Dumbledore announced that Neville had gone missing.


	19. Did They Have Brains or Knowledge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Sparrowkeet Lounge antics, and I have to say I love this group. In canon, Marcus and Oliver become pretty much irrelevant after year 2 and Cedric and Cho aren't even mentioned until year 4, so it's kind of funny I chose this group to get together. Still, I went through quite a few prospects and I'm glad I landed on these.

I never thought I’d say this, but there were far too many similarities between Draco Malfoy and Cho Chang. They were both driven and clever, sure, but it’s not even that bugging me. It’s more their tone of voice being exactly the same when they say- “Try it again.”

Thanks to Cho’s flying lessons, I was a decent hand at a broom. I could fly faster than Hermione could before she got scared, but somehow she always managed to squeeze more maneuverability from her broom with whatever directions Harry was giving her.

Meanwhile, Hermione and Draco took it upon themselves to teach me some charms and spells they’d practiced. Usually, Draco would help me with pronunciation and movement and Hermione would be the one to actually demonstrate the spell. It was a funny thing, but in all the time I’d spent with them, I’d never seen Draco perform any but the most basic spell, even when he knew more. I penned the observation down in my notebook and decided to investigate further next year when Luna was with me.

The other members of the Sparrowkeet Lounge weren’t idle during the year, though, oh no. Each of them took it upon themselves to give me something of a ‘cool’ education, in their own special ways.

Cedric Diggory sounded exactly what my dad had discovered about muggle ‘boy scouts.’ He was always prepared, always positive, and if there were a few more little old ladies to help across streets you could be sure he’d rather spend all day helping them than passing any of his classes. In the popularity alignment chart, Cedric was ‘Nice-Popular,’ which suited him just fine. So, he spent his time trying to teach me how to do that.

Apparently, Nice-Popular is much harder than I would have thought. It sounds pretty simple: just ‘be nice,’ but Cedric said that being ‘nice’ wasn’t the same as being ‘pleasant,’ which was what my idea of nice was. He said it was an easy mistake to make, though, and I wrote that down in my notes since it seemed emblematic, somehow.

“Pleasant, is the same for everyone,” he explained one day, walking through the grass of the Hogwarts grounds. “Happy, nonthreatening, extroverted, but nice is different between people. Take Gary Orchard.” He pointed at a fifth year Hufflepuff. “Gary wants to join the expedition to find Atlantis.”

I snorted. “Good luck with that.”

Cedric only shrugged. “Magic has come a long way since the island was lost. If there’s any piece of it left, it’s bound to be found eventually.” He waved at Gary. “Hey, Gares, how’s the breath training going? Beat that record yet?”

Gary smiled and waved back. “Nearly there. Without magic, I can stay under for twelve minutes, and I know a few spells that can stretch that to twenty. Looking into a modified extension charm to put on the lungs so the explorers won’t have to rely on gillyweed.”

“I’m a fair hands at Charms, myself,” Cedric said modestly, considering he had already skipped ahead a year in the subject, and might do the same again next year. “Maybe I could meet you down at the library and help you do some research.”

He grinned. “Thanks, Ced. I’m still in the preliminary stages, so I’ll take a raincheck on that for now, though.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries and Cedric and I walked away with a parting wave. Once we were out of earshot, he pointed to a second year Slytherin, who appeared to be missing two teeth near the front. “That’s Regina McAdams. She doesn’t know me too much yet, since I usually let the first years kind of get their footing, but I know a few things about her.” So saying, he strode up to the snake, putting his hands into his robes and withdrawing a dark purple flyer. “Excuse me, we’re trying to drum up some people to come to a poetry reading on Sunday. You can perform if you want, you don’t have to, but it would be nice to have a few more chairs filled. There’ll be snacks and some light music. Come on by if you have the time.” Without waiting for her response, Cedric slipped away with me trailing behind.

“That was a bit rude, mate, don’tcha think?” I commented, but he shook his head.

“Regina McAdams is shy, big time, and introverted on top of that, but she loves poetry. If I want to do something nice for her, I need to lay the option on the table and get out before she has to think of a response. If I stayed for a yes or no, she’d feel trapped, and that’s not fun for anyone,” he explained.

“Do you know everyone at Hogwarts?” I asked, a bit skeptically.

“Don’t be silly,” he said with a wave at an energetic fourth year Gryffindor. “I don’t know everyone, I just know enough.”

This was Cedric’s style.

“Don’t need to know everyone,” Oliver told me as he performed sit-ups hanging by his legs off a floating broom. “Don’t need to talk to everyone. Don’t need to give people things or help them study.” He finished with his set and flipped off the broom. “Marcus and I are the youngest captains in a while. He bought his way onto the team, and he owns up to that. That’s just the way things are in Slytherin. Not in Gryffindor. I’m a captain for one reason, and one reason only: I’m up earlier, stay later, and work harder than anyone else.”

“Every other day, my team is out here working at seven in the morning, and it’s not because they like me that much, or that they’re really so ‘all that’ about Quidditch. They’re out here at seven, because they know I’m out here at six.” He’d switched positions at that point to begin pullups on the broom, and I couldn’t fathom his strength and endurance at that point. “It’s the same with studying and classes. People see me focused during class. They see me with the book open and taking notes, and eventually they’ll do the same. I’m not in the Sparrowkeet Lounge ‘cause of something I do: I’m here because when people see me, they want to do something.”

I decided to call Oliver’s brand of popularity, ‘Inspirational-Popular.’

“That’s not gonna work out for you,” Marcus Flint told me, bluntly, as he exchanged a piece of paper for a handful of galleons from a seventh year. “You’re not exactly ‘inspirational.’”

I crossed my arms and looked away, making a ‘harrumph’ noise. “I could be inspirational.”

“Do you like hard work?” He asked, point-blank.

“Not really.”

“Grueling pain?”

“Who does?”

“Waking up early?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s not gonna work out for you,” he reiterated, tucking the galleons into a small black chest.

“Do you?” I fired back, and he gave me a crooked grin in response.

“Don’t need to,” he responded, airily. “I have something better.” He placed the black chest in front of me. “Open it.”

I did so, then I picked up the chest and turned it upside down, giving it an experimental shake. “It’s empty.” He nodded. “But I saw you put those galleons in there.”

He held out a hand and I gave him the box back. “This, little Sparrowkeet, is something called a Vanishing Cabinet. It’s a two way door, connecting this little box to an identical one I have in my room. As long as they’re properly synced up, all you need to do to send something to the other one is to put it inside and close the lid.”

I shrugged. It was undeniably cool, but- “how does that make you popular?” I asked, leaning against a table in the empty classroom.

“Let’s say for a second you have a problem. You’re worried about your Transfiguration final, you’ve accidentally dosed your best mate with love potion and don’t want to go to the teachers about it, maybe you got challenged to a duel and you don’t know how you’re gonna win.” He held up the chest. “Then you see this box, with a little sign on the side that says, ‘problems solved.’ All they gotta do is right out their problem and put it in the box. If I can handle it, and I always can, I send out a note asking for payment, and I fix their problem. Worried about Transfiguration? I can set them up with a tutor, I can give ‘em cheat sheets. Accidental love potion? I got a box of Hollowheart Brew under my bed. Challenged to a duel? I know so many dark curses it’ll make your little Weasley head spin.” He slammed the chest down on a nearby desk. “Not a lot of people love Slytherins, but we get respect because more often than not we’re the only ones who can get a job done. That’s why I’m popular. That’s why I’m a member.”

Growing up, no one in my house had a positive word on Slytherins. Bill and Charlie would complain about getting pranked, Percy would complain they never respected his authority, the twins would complain they never helped them prank, my parents would complain that the entire batch would end up rotten and turn dark. Somehow, I’d always figured when I went to Hogwarts I’d be locked in enmity with one or all Slytherins. I never thought I’d be mentored by one Slytherin and friends with another, even if Draco was a bit more standoffish than Harry and Hermione, which was saying something since Harry’s about the most standoffish person I’d ever met.

I decided to call Marcus’ brand of popularity ‘Pragmatic-Popular,’ and leave it at that.

Which just left- “I’ve arranged a series of Wizard’s chess tournaments, ostensibly for everyone, but Ravenclaws will likely be the only ones to show.” Cho began, walking me to my next class. I often wondered when exactly Cho’s classes were, but she was probably attending them while I learned something from the other Sparrowkeet members. “I’ve seen you play against Oliver and Cedric, so you should be advanced enough to win, as long as you make sure to get enough food and rest beforehand. For this reason, I’ve arranged the last day of the tournament to be after your finals, ensuring your concentration is at a max.” She didn’t ask if that sounded good to me. It just wasn’t something Cho did.

I called Cho’s popular, ‘Image-Popular.’ As long as she could be positively identified on sight, the details for how that happened could be adjusted to suit her purposes. It was adaptable, but also a bit shallow, and it was focused entirely on me at that point in time.

“Now, it’s almost Christmas. Do you have your gifts picked out?” She asked, penning something down on her clipboard with a quill.

I rubbed the back of my neck, self-consciously. “My mum said she’d knit sweaters for my friends...” I began, and there was a harsh scraping sound as Cho crossed something out.

“That could be a problem,” she muttered.

“Hey, my mum’s sweaters are-“ I bristled at what she was saying but she interrupted me.

“Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Oliver Wood, Cedric Diggory, Marcus Flint, and Cho Chang,” she read off the list. “Unless there are more you were planning on giving gifts to I should add to the list, that is seven sweaters your mother needs to knit by Christmas. How many has she completed?”

My stomach sank. “Two.”

“Like I said: that could be a problem,” she penned down another few notes as we approached my next class.

“Listen, Cho. I appreciate your help, but you’ve probably heard the Weasley’s aren’t all that rich...” I began, embarrassedly.

Cho seemed to shake herself from some invisible stupor, her eyebrows furrowing. “What? I don’t care.” A lump formed in my throat. “Marcus Flint didn’t have three knuts to his name when he came to Hogwarts, now he makes more here than he does at his summer job, Oliver Wood is a half-blood of no real influence, and Cedric doesn’t like spending money at all. The point is, it doesn’t matter. You’re in the Sparrowkeet Lounge. I’ll take care of it for now and when you’re rich and famous you’ll spot me back.” Talking to Cho was always so strange. She had a way of speaking sometimes where she sounded absolutely certain something would come to pass, that it almost made you believe it too, just because she sounded so sure. “I believe this is your class.” She said and I began walking in before she stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and a soft smile. “My father used to say that money isn’t the answer. Money is the question: yes is the answer.”

With a hearty laugh, I walked into Charms, with a lightness in my step I rarely felt.

I gave Harry, Hermione, and Cho sweaters my mum knitted, which were well received by all. Harry mentioned something about spell practice instead of anything having to do with wearing it, but I took what I could get. I got Draco a book on trolls, to sort of commemorate our first meeting, and ‘cause he liked books... I don’t know, I was kind of spitballing since I didn’t know him that well. Cho asked what I wanted to get Cedric, Marcus, and Oliver, and she managed to find a book on advanced Charms that’s a little hard to come by for Cedric, a paint and varnishing set for Marcus because I noticed his ‘vanishing chest’ also had ‘vanishing paint,’ and some muggle protein powder for Oliver because my dad had talked about it a while back and it seemed like the kind of thing he could use.

That was all great enough without thinking of what I got back. My haul that year was the best I’d ever had: sweaters and sweets from my family, a Wizard’s Chess set made of white and dark chocolate (which had significantly fewer players after a few games) from Harry, a muggle book on chess strategies and counters from Hermione, a Chudley Cannon’s scarf from Draco (apparently he was a little embarrassed to be a fan since they hadn’t won in forever, but that suddenly gave me much more to talk with him about). Cedric and Marcus worked together to make me a coin charmed to flip onto whatever side I called when it was in the air, something made more miraculous since Marcus had somehow managed to ensure Cedric never found out they were making a device for cheating despite being an active participant in its construction, Oliver gave me a new broom, a Nimbus 1700, to help with my flying, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it. I’d been practicing with Cho’s Cleansweep 11, which is loads better than any school broom, and even that was no Nimbus.

That was the last of the presents under my tree, and I couldn’t be disappointed, but the lack of anything from Cho was noticeable. Her knock on the outside of the Gryffindor common room a short time after I’d finished unwrapping promised an explanation.

She wore the sweater on her back, like a cape, the arms tied loosely around her neck. In her hands was a cylindrical box, wrapped in paper. “Sorry I couldn’t get it to you before. It only arrived today,” she explained passing the box to me.

I opened it, carefully shredding the wrapping paper and leaving it on the floor, then opening the box. Inside was a hat.

The hat was red and gold, Gryffindor colors, and seemed caught in its design somewhere between a jester’s cap and a crown. It was absolutely ridiculous to look at, but I couldn’t help but put it on. The hat slid down over my eyes, not quite fitted to my head just yet, and I let out a guffaw, collapsing into a seated position on the steps outside the common room.

“Do you like it?” Cho asked.

“Like it?” I stood up, suddenly, not bothering to adjust it so the hat wasn’t over my eyes. “Like it? I feel entirely bonkers.” I jumped up and hugged Cho. “It’s perfect.” It was like Luna was there with me once again. Oh, I couldn’t wait to show it to her.

“I don’t really understand,” Cho said, a little unsure. “But I’m glad you like it.”

“Where did you even find this?” Iasked, finally tipping it above my eyes once again.

“I’ve been trying to think of what you’ve been missing this entire year, and I finally thought of it. It was something my father collected years ago, and tucked it up in our attic. I asked my mum and she said I could give it to you, so I had her send it, but it took her a bit to find it, which is why it came so late,” she explained.

My eyebrows shot up. She’d been thinking about this all year? “I don’t know how you picked it out, but you got it spot on. Thanks, Cho.”

She blushed faintly at the praise. “Anyway, I just wanted to get it to you. Thanks for the sweater. My mum isn’t very knitting-minded.”

I told her I’d pass the thanks along, and she went off. I celebrated Christmas with Harry, Hermione, and Draco in the morning, in the afternoon the Sparrowkeet Lounge had their own private party, and at night the Weasley’s gathered for a family dinner, lacking a few members, but not the spirit.

I kept the hat on the whole day, and after that it wasn’t long before it became a staple of my outfit. My robes may have been tinged with blue and silver, but the hat was all Gryffindor, all Luna, all me. It reminded me what the sorting hat said of why I couldn’t be in Gryffindor: some sparks of bravery, but a selfish spirit. It was true, I knew. But I also knew it could change.

When Neville turned up missing on the last day, I knew what I had to do.


	20. The Thestral Theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more chapters until the end of the year, but we've almost caught up to my prewritten stuff, which means I have to shake a leg for the last bit.
> 
> The library close to me has a section for saved newspapers, so I figured Hogwarts would have one, too. Also, I love Hermione in her research mode.

With Draco’s timely assistance, Christmas went well. Still, as I carefully peeled present after present open, I was struck by how odd it was to, you know... have friends.

I remembered Ernie Macmillan and our similarly friendly association, then wondered if the rest of the Hufflepuff dorm had made similar overtures and I just hadn’t noticed. I decided to gift all the Hufflepuff’s in my year sweets, because... well, who doesn’t like sweets? It seemed a generic but pleasant enough gift, and from Ernie’s expression, I thankfully didn’t cause him some affront by giving it to everyone.

Draco and Hermione came to pick me up from the Hufflepuff dorms shortly after I awoke, and took me to the Ravenclaw dorms to meet up with Ron. He came out with an odd hat, and dragged Draco to the side to begin talking his ear off about the Chudley Cannons.

“Thanks for the broom kit, Harry,” Hermione said, beaming. “I still can’t feel any of the brooms like you can, and I’m not even terribly sure that’s a real thing and not some advanced madness, besides, but,” she shook her head, getting back to her main point, “but thank you. I’m sure Judy will appreciate it.”

“I don’t know how I do it,” I admitted. “It’s just sometimes I touch things and I can feel something alive inside it, except...” I hesitated.

Hermione crooked an eyebrow, curiously. “Except?”

“Can you keep a secret?” I asked, suddenly, and her expression went stony.

“Of course,” she assured me, more serious than I’d ever seen her before.

Draco and Ron concluded their conversation, and began walking toward us.

“Come to the Hufflepuff dorms later. I have to show you something,” I whispered to her, and she nodded stoically.

“What on Earth is with that hat, Ron? You look like you’re straight out of Alice in Wonderland,” Hermione giggled as she batted a low hanging tassel.

“Nonsense,” Ron declared. “Do you want some tea?”

“You don’t have any tea,” Draco pointed out, eyebrows furrowing as he didn’t quite get the joke.

Ron made a faux-gasp. “No tea? How about coffee, then?”

Draco shook his head. “You don’t have coffee either.”

“It’s very rude to offer people things you don’t have,” Hermione said, laughing.

“It’s rude for you to take them,” he said, chuckling, himself, “if I don’t have them, you certainly can’t take my word for them.”

“I don’t understand,” Draco said, looking between Ron and Hermione.

“Then I must be speaking nonsense,” Ron decided. “Or you must be hearing it. Either way, it can’t be helped.”

Draco sent a helpless look to me, but I only shrugged.

“I hope we haven’t lost Ron completely to the Mad Hatter,” Hermione voiced as we began walking down the hall.

“Is it too late to consider it an improvement,” I suggested, and everyone laughed.

“Really, Harry, I think you may be on to something. He hasn’t mentioned the Chudley Cannons once.” Hermione gave a sideways glare to Ron, who shielded his face in mock terror.

“I’d rather he talk about that,” Draco grumbled. “‘Least then he’d make sense.”

We broke up again and went our separate ways, Ron to meet with his upperclass friends, Draco to meet with Neville, and Hermione and I to meet at the Hufflepuff dorms.

Once I had grabbed the parcel and made a swift exit from the dorms, dodging Ernie with a few rushed non-explanations, Hermione and I made for an abandoned spot to talk, eventually deciding on the second floor girls’ bathroom at her suggestion, since no one went there anymore.

“You’re not afraid of ghosts, are you?” She asked as we made our way down to it. I answered in the negative and she relaxed, slightly. “That’s good. There’s a ghost that haunts the bathroom, but she’s really harmless.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes as I watched the tenseness in her stance. “You seem more nervous around me than the others,” I observed.

She rubbed her eyes, a bit aggressively. “It’s not your fault, it’s just a little troublesome, that’s all.”

“What is?” I asked, and she bit her lip.

“Let’s do your secret first,” she decided as we walked into the bathroom.

I shrugged, agreeably, and carefully unwrapped the parcel, tumbling the cloak to the ground without touching it. “Can you feel that?”

She bent down and picked up the cloak, pinching and rolling it between her fingers. “It’s soft. Is there something I’m supposed to be feeling?”

I reached out and touched it once more, shivering at the chilling emptiness I felt. “I told you before, broomsticks, wands, even paintings, I can feel a sort of life coming from them. With other things, coins, food, things without magic, they just feel normal, but this... this feels dead.” I pulled away. “Or like death, itself.”

Hermione held it in front of her and her bottom half disappeared completely from my sight. When she dropped the cloak again, her legs reappeared. “I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t feel it at all.”

“Wait, try wrapping your arm in it,” I instructed, watching closely.

Tentatively, she did as I asked and gasped as her arm disappeared behind the fabric. “This must be an invisibility cloak,” she gushed. “I’ve read about them. They’re supposed to be quite rare, Harry, how on Earth did you get your hands on one?”

“Apparently, it was my dad’s. The person who gave it left a note, but no name.” She tried to hand it back to me, but I warded her off with a shake of my head. “Keep it. Until I know why it feels like that, until I can get it to stop, I don’t want to touch the thing. I used it for one night after I got it and it took half a week before I felt normal again.”

Hermione brought her invisible cloth-wrapped hand back to her chest, slowly nodding. “I don’t quite understand,” she admitted, “but I’ll see what I can find out. Invisibility cloaks are rare, not unheard of; the library must have some information on them that could explain this.”

She bit her lip, thinking for a minute. “Come to think of it, maybe I can find something on this skill you seem to have. There’s gotta be another recorded case of feeling the life in brooms and the like, right? It’s the only thing that makes logical sense.” Then another thought struck her. “And the person who gave it to you, it had to be someone who knew your dad, right? Maybe we can look into your parents’ friends. It could give answers about the cloak, or maybe even your magic-sense, if that was a family trait.”

With three goals and an invisibility cloak in hand, I kind of let her voice wash over me as I half-listened to her flurry of ideas and theories. In her excitement, she mentioned my invulnerability that I hadn’t told anyone about, but I figured she and Draco knew a while before that, this was more of a confirmation.

So, between hanging out with Draco and Ron, studying, taking exams, and broom practice, Hermione and I were in the library trying to find information on invisibility cloaks, my magic-sense, and any living friends of my family.

The results were mixed.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Hermione griped, pacing back and forth in the library. “This cloak doesn’t behave anything like the invisibility cloaks in these books. It doesn’t have a command phrase, doesn’t wear out, and doesn’t put any strain on the user.” She glared down at the limp fabric. “By all accounts, it shouldn’t be working.”

“So, why is it working?” I asked, still shying away from the dreadful thing.

She pondered the question for a few minutes, before finally producing a theory. “What if this isn’t a piece of enchanted cloth at all?” She began, eyes glinting with this new idea. “What if this was made from a magical creature?”

My eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Hermione entered her lecturing tone, and it was difficult for me not to immediately tune her out, but somehow I managed. “Magical creatures don’t follow the same rules we do; that’s why goblins and centaurs can’t use wands. But, in exchange for that, they have their own abilities we can’t hope to replicate: phoenixes can come back from the dead, centaurs can translate the movement of the stars into real life events, goblins have legendary metalworking skills. What if there was a magical creature who could turn invisible, and this is its skin?”

“So this cloak is monster skin?” I recoiled from it further, and when Hermione looked down at the possible creature-leather, her face fell and she scooted backward. Apparently her brain hadn’t really connected the theory with the object.

“There has to be a way to test this theory,” Hermione muttered, returning to her pacing.

I shrugged. “Well, is there anyone around we can ask about magical creatures?”

Hermione’s face lit up again.

Between the clutter and animals, the actual space Hagrid had in his hut was about the same I had in the old island shack where we first met. Adding in Hagrid’s advanced size, however, I couldn’t see how Hagrid could reasonably live in these conditions. I guessed he liked it better outside.

“‘Ello, Hermione,” he called when he saw us approach, feeding chickens that didn’t seem magical, but I’d been fooled before. “And Harry, how have ya liked Hogwarts so far, hm? If I’m being honest, I expected ya to come see me sooner.”

I smiled, thinking of all the progress I’d made in repairing charms for my clothes and dark magic research for my scar. “It’s brilliant.”

He beamed at that, before Hermione caught his attention. “Actually, we came to ask you a question about magical creatures,” Hermione subtly interjected.

“Oh, well, I’ll answer as best I can,” he assured us as I cast a skeptical glare down at the ‘chickens.’

“Can you think of any magical creatures who can turn invisible?” She said to start, and he thought for a few seconds before answering.

“Well, there’s the thestrals, o’ course,” he began, counting on one meaty finger. “demiguise can do it at will, but they’re all just about died out, there’s the snorkacks, if you believe the Quibbler on that. There’s any number of creatures too small to see, and boggarts o’ course take the shape of what you’re afraid of, so they might be real small, or invisible, I suppose.”

Hermione nodded along to the information, no doubt connecting it to her own research. “So, if hypothetically someone were to... skin one of these creatures, would the resulting cloak be invisible?” At his expression, she quickly emphasized, “hypothetically.”

He considered for a while. “It’s hard ta say,” he answered, eventually. “You could make somethin’ out o’ thestrals, I suppose, but you can see them if you’ve seen someone di-“ he stopped himself. “Well, never you mind. Demiguise are small, so ya’d probably need more of ‘em then we’ve got left to stitch a whole cloak together, ‘n Snorkacks aren’t technically discovered, so ye’d be better off announcing it to the public than skinnin’ one.” He shook his head. “There’s spells that do nearly the same thing, though, so why anyone would hurt a poor creature instead o’ just casting a spell is beyond me.”

“Thank you, Hagrid, you’ve been very helpful,” Hermione told him, and I muttered a goodbye as we left.

“Where are we with the skin theory?” I asked, once we were a suitable distance from Hagrid.

“Thestral is beginning to sound likely, but testing it will be difficult,” she answered, slipping into her lecturing tone once again. “Thestrals are invisible to anyone who hasn’t witnessed a person’s death. If it’s made from thestral skin, then feeling like death on some level makes sense, but it also stands to reason...” she trailed off, leadingly.

“That the cloak wouldn’t be invisible to people who’ve seen death either,” I finished for her.

“Precisely.” If she could have given house points, I got the distinct impression she would have.

I shrugged. “So all we need is someone who can see thestrals, to test if they can see through the cloak.”

“The question is who.” She worried her lip. “Asking a teacher might get it confiscated, but I don’t know anyone in our year who’s seen something like that.”

At least temporarily, it seemed we’d hit a dead end. Investigations on the magic sense didn’t even make it that far. But we did find something looking into friends of my father.

Apparently the only friend of the Potters left who could have given the cloak was one, “Remus John Lupin. He fought with your parents in the war,” Hermione turned the book around and showed a photo of my parents and their friends, nearly all of which were dead. “Apparently, he was best friends with James Potter, and two others named Peter Pettigrew and... Sirius Black.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

I turned over one of the old editions of the Daily Prophet we were looking through that showed the headline, ‘Sirius Black Caught,’ with ‘Known associate of You-Know-Who and mass murderer thrown into Azkaban,’ underneath it.

Hermione nodded. “Right, that’s where I remember him from.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but I’m not sure meeting up with someone who sends me death cloaks possibly made from endangered creature skin who used to be chummy with a mass murderer is a great idea,” Hermione meant well, but she had a tendency to lose sight of the big picture like this.

“I’m not asking you to get in his van,” Hermione said, exasperatedly. “I’m saying send him an owl and maybe you’ll be able to find out more about your family, or yourself. You already said you have no idea how you got this magic-sense, well maybe he knows. Maybe it’s a family thing, or a special rare ability like metamorphagi.”

After considering for a moment, I relented. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do to hurt me anyway, so there wasn’t any harm sending him an owl. “What’s his address?”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t say here, but owls can deliver with just a name as long as you don’t mind it taking longer.”

“I don’t know how useful he’s gonna be, so a little extra time probably won’t matter,” I answered, agreeably, right as Draco walked in.

Hermione followed my gaze and greeted the perturbed-looking Slytherin, Ron trailing behind him. “Draco, Ron, we were just about to get ready for the feast, I thought we were meeting you down there.”

“We have a problem.” Draco said, and Hermione’s eyes widened before Draco could even say what it was. “Neville’s gone missing.”


	21. The Woman Who Couldn't Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neville will probably get more attention in year 2, but I couldn't leave him completely without representation here. His was actually one of the first AU ideas I thought up for this, along with Harry's and Luna's.

She looked like Bellatrix Lestrange. Her hair blacker than pitch and nearly as crooked as her personality. Her eyes held a wild ferocity, insanity, and I recognize the hypocrisy in my saying that.

She sounded like Bellatrix Lestrange. Her sadistic cackle cracked and echoed through Hogwarts, through my home, through my mind. Her voice was constantly hoarse and high at the same time, like whistling through sandpaper, grating on me.

She talked like Bellatrix Lestrange. Poison bubbling past her lips like laughter. She tells me to do things, and I always say no. I know what’s right, and I know she’s wrong. Still, she whispers, sometimes she screams, late at night she likes to poke me until I wake up. Those nights are hard, but the nights she leaves me alone are even harder. I hear her shuffling around, in my things, or those of my roommates, and I tell myself there’s nothing she can do.

Everything about her was just like Bellatrix Lestrange, down to the mole on her face or the pop of her lips. But she was not Bellatrix Lestrange. I know this because Bellatrix Lestrange was locked in Azkaban after she tortured my parents into little more than vegetables.

So the person who hounds my footsteps, who tells me to do such horrible things, who wakes me in the night can’t be Bellatrix Lestrange.

“C-c-come along, Mister Longbottom,” Professor Quirrel’s voice called from down the hall. “This won’t take long.”

I followed along, flinching as Bellatrix dashed past me and stood in front of my teacher. “You’ve heard of the curse on the Defense position? I have an idea.” She giggled.

“I don’t like your ideas,” I muttered under my breath.

“What’s that? Can’t hear you,” she said, leaning closer with her hand cupped around her ear. She wrapped an arm around me and I shivered at the ice-cold touch. “No one would be surprised if he disappeared. It’s the last day, anyway, we could just say he moved out, not that anyone would ask, anyway.”

“He’s the defense teacher,” I pointed out. “And I’m a first year. I don’t know a single spell that could take down any adult, let alone a teacher.”

Bellatrix pouted, regarding Quirrel. “He’s not much of either,” she pointed out. “You could probably just shove him down some stairs.” That sadistic grin rejoined her face. “Ooh, shove him down the stairs.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Do it,” she whispered, her breath tickling my ear. “Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it.”

“Stop,” I shouted, covering my ears.

Quirrel started. “What? St-st-stop what?”

I shook my head. “Nothing, sorry. Thought I saw a ghost.”

He turned away and kept walking. “Y-yes, well, I often found the ghosts fr-fr-frightening, m-myself, when I was a st-st-student.”

“Come oooon,” Bellatrix whined. “Listen to him. We’d be doing him a favor.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring her once again. She couldn’t do anything to him, only me, and I could deal with that. I’d been dealing with it all my life.

We entered his office, and with a wave of his wand all his belongings gathered together into one trunk, save a large chest that seemed to take up a full wall of the room. I pointed to it. “What’s in there, professor?”

“Insurance,” he said, simply.

Bellatrix paused. “Where’d his stutter go?”

I turned away from the chest to the professor to see his wand pointed at me. “Petrificus Totalus,” he intoned, freezing my movement, instantly. Another few spells lifted me into the air and turned me invisible.

“This just got interesting,” Bellatrix cheered, as he unlocked the chest and walked out before whatever was contained within could escape.

I floated alongside him as he navigated the corridors, cutting past students on their way to the closing feast. I tried to call out for any of them to help me, but I could barely move my eyes through the strength of the spell.

He carried me to the third floor corridor, summoning and enchanting a harp to put the massive dog to sleep. I had to admire the devil’s snare trap; I’d never seen that much of it in one room before, but apparently Quirrel had as all it took was a shaft of light from his wand to create an opening to pass through.

Bellatrix made a face at the devil’s snare, grumbling something about how plants were, ‘boring,’ which was fairly typical of her. If it didn’t involve violence, she was either uninterested or affronted.

He slowed the keys with magic and flew to roughly grab the one that fit the door, opening it without much effort, and he simply flew over the chess set as well, blasting apart a few pieces that made haphazard strikes against him. He drank half of the potion he picked up off the shelf, seemingly at random, and he forced my mouth open to feed me the same, much to Bellatrix’s delight.

We walked through fire, and I saw the mirror I’d stumbled across earlier that year, the one that showed me, freed from Bellatrix, though right then I’d have preferred to be freed from Quirrel. My wish was granted as, after a moment, he released the binding spell, and I staggered to my feet.

“Maybe he’s going to kill you,” Bellatrix whispered, excitedly.

“What do you see when you look in this mirror?” Quirrel asked, all traces of a stutter long gone from his inflection.

I hesitated, but eventually answered. “Me. Alone.”

Quirrel looked at me, curiously. “Your parents were tortured into insanity.”

“I did that,” Bellatrix announced, cheerily, raising her hand.

“You have no siblings,” Quirrel continued. “You have no friends. Why is your heart’s desire to be alone?”

“Go on,” she prodded. “Tell him.”

I didn’t tell him. He wouldn’t have believed me anyway. No one did.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Quirrel sighed, conjuring a chair and sitting down on it. “Do you know who I am?”

“Professor Quirrel?” I guessed, and he chuckled in response.

“That was the wrong question, I apologize,” he answered, civilly, reaching up to begin unwrapping his turban. “I suppose I should have asked: do you know who he is?” The turban fell away and Quirrel turned to show a new face, embedded in the back of his head.

“The Dark Lord,” Bellatrix whispered, stricken.

“You-Know-Who?” I asked, Bellatrix, but the face smiled, mistaking the question for him.

“Ah, so my absence has not fully wiped my memory from the minds of children,” the voice said, amused. “Even the fear of my name persists.” His mouth curls into a frown. “A pale imitation of the fear that was, but that’s no matter: I will soon rectify the situation.” He focused his attention on me, and I felt a shiver at the soulless eyes he held. It was like Bellatrix, in a way, unreal. Was I only imagining him, as well? It was impossible to tell. “Inside this mirror is Nicholas Flamel’s Philosopher’s Stone, do you know what that is?”

I thought back to studying potions with Draco, but couldn’t pin down exactly where I’d heard the name, despite it’s familiarity. I shook my head no.

“The Stone is the main ingredient to the elixir of life, capable of restoring me to my own body,” he paused, “unless you stop me.”

“No,” Bellatrix cried out. “Serve him, don’t stop him. Kneel before his feet and lick the ground on which he treads.”

I could have done what she said. “Why do you want me to stop you?” I asked, instead.

He laughed, an indiscernible emotion behind it. “It amuses me to see you try.”

I stared at the mirror, still seeing nothing more than my reflection, sans Bellatrix, even as I heard her screaming at me to serve him, find the stone for him, submit to him. But... “how I do know you’re the real You-Know-Who?”

He blinked, surprised, then Quirrel shouted, “you dare question the dark lord?”

“Wait,” he commanded, and Quirrel went silent. “Who do you think I am?”

“Harry Potter killed You-Know-Who,” I said, instead of answering. “So either everyone is wrong, you came back from the dead, or you’re not the real You-Know-Who.”

He laughed, the sound echoing off the walls in the small room, reverberating through my spine. “Quirinus, how many false lords would you have followed, if they simply announced themselves to be Voldemort?” Quirrel gaped, lacking an answer. “I came to you and you questioned nothing, yet this boy has the sense to at the very least make sure it’s me before he does what I say,” he shouted, making Quirrel flinch.

“Master, I only meant-“ Quirrel tried to say before the face interrupted him.

“Quiet,” he commanded. “My Death Eaters are scattered far afield. I had thought this was due to cowardice, but I see now it might well be stupidity,” he spat the word, and Quirrel flinched again. “Once I return to my body, Quirinus, I will prove to you who I am, and it is a lesson you will not soon forget.”

“And the boy?” Quirrel asked, gesturing to me.

“He is of no consequence,” the face snarled. “The chances of him getting past Dumbledore’s ridiculous test were close to none. However, he has served as adequate bait.”

The face’s attention shifted behind me, and Bellatrix’s and mine did the same, watching as none other than Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, walked through the fire, patting down his scorched robes.

“You must have been talking about me,” he said with a cocky grin. “My ears were burning.”

The face on the back of Quirrel’s head, Bellatrix, and me just stared.

“What?” Bellatrix said.


	22. Attack and Defense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The defenses around the Philosopher's Stone are funny in fanfiction because generally there isn't a lot you can do with them. In first year, no one knows enough spells to do all that much and the defenses themselves are fairly straightforward with simple solutions built in. If your characters have power or knowledge outside of their year, the defenses flip over easily, but if they don't it's easy to just play out the sequence of events that happens in canon, which can be frustrating to read because it doesn't feel like an AU. Hopefully, I struck a nice balance, here.

I always hated being alone. That might be surprising with my independent spirit and willingness to spend untold hours in the library, but that's always been more of a defense mechanism, since my early school life… well, let's just say I had troubles in my early school life and leave it at that.

Being with Draco, and after that Harry, Ron, and Cho was wonderful, but there were times when differing class schedules, alternate appointments, or pure chance separated us. Of course, I always hated being alone, but there was a way to feel more alone than simple solitude.

I had temporarily split with Draco and Harry as they went to retrieve Ron and meet at the third floor corridor so I could collect a few items I thought would be useful: namely Harry's invisibility cloak, Judy my - that is - the school's broom, and Hagrid's dragon, Norbert, which he'd asked me to hide for a while because apparently it had started a small fire and several teachers were poking around his hut to investigate the cause. I had decided not to tell Draco of this event, for obvious reasons.

With items in hand, and a now foot long Norbert sequestered in my bag, I ran down the silent corridors. Even the ghosts, it seemed, were down at the closing feast, where we should have been, I suppose.

I had learned, in one year, more about the wizarding world than some who were born in it. I knew how transfiguration was structured and how it came to be. I could recite the greatest wizarding discoveries on command. I knew the names of every goblin general during the first and second wars. But even with all that knowledge, I still hadn't grown up there. I didn't have a family who lived there, so I was missing something. It wasn't big, but there was a palpable kind of common sense I lacked.

It was the sort of thing that said 'don't make deals with faeries,' or 'animagus can't transform into magical animals' or 'always be careful when you're walking alone, because you never know what might be around the corner.' These are obvious to a wizard that's grown in the miasmic zeitgeist of wizarding knowledge, but to a muggleborn like me I had no way of knowing unless someone told me directly, and who would think to do that if it's common sense?

The castle was lit by torchlight, mainly, the windows at irregular intervals showing the moon when it wasn't hidden behind clouds or trees. There were also candles, and the occasional enchanted bauble, usually in Dumbledore or Flitwick's offices, but as night fell the torch flame produces shifting wicked shadows that only seemed to grow as I walked further.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw something dart from one shadow to the next, and I skidded to a stop, wand gripped tightly in my hand. "Whoever's there, come out."

A little girl, around my age, stepped out of the shadow, turning her wand around in her hands. Blonde hair fell in wavy locks around her face and a cruel sneer decorated her features. "Miss me, Granger?" She asked, and I stumbled backward, colliding with the cold stone wall.

"No. You…" I shook my head, but the specter before me didn't falter. "You're not supposed to be here." I looked down at the red and gold trim of her robes. "You're not a Gryffindor. You're not even a wizard."

"One of Granger's famous theories?" She snapped, stepping forward even as I pressed further into the stone wall. "You think I'm 'not' a lot of things, but what about you?" Her eyes wandered over my robes. "You're supposed to be a Gryffindor? Don't make me laugh. You're not selfless." She stomped a foot, making me jump. "And you're clearly not brave. You think you're a Gryffindor just because some wrinkly old hat said you were?" She jabbed a finger toward me and I flinched. "You're a liar and a snitch, Granger, no fancy wand or piece of felt will ever change that."

"I'm not-" I tried to protest but she trod over me like it was nothing.

"Not what?" She challenged. "Do you really think this place makes you different? Look at you. You haven't changed one bit. You surround yourself in books that can't judge you, people who don't know your secret. Do you really think if they found out you were spying on them, they'd stick around?" I felt a hole in my chest where my lungs should have been, and each breath inward seemed to make the hole bigger. "They'll leave," she said with all the certainty of a decree. "They always do."

"Bailey, I…" she didn't interrupt again, but I realized I had nothing to say. She was right. I thought being a wizard, coming to Hogwarts meant I was different, somehow, but I hadn't changed a bit.

Her voice dropped lower as she stepped even closer. "You're going to be stuck like this forever. A freak."

Bailey's head turned sharply to the side and I followed her gaze to see Draco running down the hallway, the hilt of a sword peeking out from his robes. "Hermione," I read off his lips. "Are you alright?" He asked, looking me over for any injuries.

"I'm… fine, Draco," I eventually answered.

Draco looked from side to side. "Who were you talking to, just now?"

Bailey was gone, somehow I knew even before I looked, evaporated in the clinging shadows the torchlight spread. "No one. Let's just go." As long as she was gone, my secret was safe. If I could keep being friends with Draco for even a little longer, it'd be worth it.

"We have to be careful," Draco warned as we began moving once again toward the third floor corridor, "I saw a dragon in the halls earlier and it wasn't tiny Norbert-sized, either. If You-Know-Who really does have Neville, he's sure putting a lot of work into keeping him."

My forehead scrunched up as I furrowed my eyebrows. "How on Earth did he manage to get a fully grown dragon inside the castle?"

Harry joined us at that point, saying, "he got the troll in. Maybe it's the same way."

"Wait, You-Know-Who was the one to set the troll loose in the castle?" Draco asked.

"Dumbledore seems to think so," Harry shrugged, "why?"

It was like a final puzzle piece clicking into place: completion. Draco and my pace quickened at once and Harry rushed to keep up. "Hagrid mentioned a connection between Professor Quirrel and the troll," Draco delineated. "He was supposed to bring one in to defend an artifact Dumbledore's keeping in the school called the Philosopher's Stone."

"So if Quirrel let the troll out, and the one who let the troll out is You-Know-Who," I elaborated and Harry nodded in understanding.

"Quirrel is Voldemort," he finished for us, a determined grin sliding across his face. "Excellent."

I bit my lip as we reached the third floor. "That still doesn't explain how a dragon got into the castle." Well, two dragons, but I wasn't counting Norbert.

Ron came running like a bat out of hell, sliding a few feet until he came to a stop in front of us, breathing heavily. "Huff… huff… not… dragons." He pointed a limp hand behind him, where he just was. "Spiders."

Draco rolled his eyes, striding past him. "That's ridiculous. We can't let a little spider stand in the way of-" he pressed himself against the wall, eyes wide. "Dragon," he whispered.

"Spider," Ron insisted.

Draco gestured furiously at the corner he'd just looked into. "Dragon."

Harry groaned, reaching his hands up to rub his eyes. "Does it ever occur to anyone that maybe it's magic?"

Everyone paused.

"He's got a point," Ron admitted.

"Really should have been our first guess," Draco agreed.

Bailey Brooks came into my mind and I snapped my fingers, finally coming upon the solution. "Of course: boggarts. I've read about them. They're supposed to take on the form of your worst fear."

Harry pointed at Draco, then Ron. "So for you it's dragons, and for you it's spiders?"

Draco folded his arms across his chest, petulantly. "That's none of your business, Potter."

"How are we supposed to stop them?" Ron asked, ignoring Harry's accusation.

"Boggarts are supposed to take the form of one person's greatest fear: they can't do multiple people at once. As long as we walk all together, it should get confused and back off." Or, you know, hopefully. I will admit there was a bit of guesswork going on at around this point. I was not looking forward to seeing Bailey Brooks with spider legs, a dragon face, and whatever Harry's fear was. Come to think of it, he never did say.

They agreed and we linked arms, traveling down the seemingly empty hallway, thankfully not harangued by any creature combination. So Ron was afraid of spiders, huh? That acromantula swarm must've been tougher on him than I thought. Still, I couldn't blame him: they were scary. So were dragons, at least, fully grown ones. I could feel Norbert wriggle in my bag as the thought occurred. And what was I afraid of? A little girl. Stacked up against spiders and dragons, it made my fear seem a bit pathetic.

We reached the end of the third floor corridor. Behind the door we stood in front of was a massive three headed dog, and past that who knew how many defenses before finally Voldemort, himself. I was in a crowd of first years about to confront one of the greatest evils the wizarding world had ever known. It was ridiculous.

But I had to believe I had this power for a reason, that I was in Gryffindor for a reason. I had to take one more step past the line. I pressed the tip of my wand up to the lock and whispered, "alohomora," seeing it unlock and fall away.

We already knew about the dog. Apparently, Harry had tangled with it early in the year and asking Hagrid about how to stop an animal like that revealed a very simple weakness. "I can't believe none of you uncultured heathens can play an instrument," Draco grumbled, preparing an oversized silver flute. "None of you would last a minute in a pureblood gathering."

"Like I'd want to," Ron barked back.

I rolled my eyes and Draco began to play. Leaning against the wall, I tried to feel the vibrations, to remember what music was like, but the thick stone prevented me. It's a funny thing, in all the thoughts I'd heard, music never appeared. Some weakness of legilimency, I suppose, but you can't hear music. I'd never hear music again.

Ron gave a signal and Harry walked through the door, calling, "dog's asleep," over his shoulder. One by one, we slipped through the trapdoor and faced our next challenge.

I recognized the sprawling plant as Devil's Snare, but only after Harry had already slipped through. "It responds to agitation," I explained, "just relax and you'll slip through." Ron and Draco nodded and I resisted the urge to shudder as the crawling plants brushed by me and I fell to the ground, feeling oddly lighter.

"Weren't you wearing a bag a minute ago?" Harry asked, idly scratching his temple.

My eyes widened and I looked back and forth but couldn't find my bag, and no bag meant no-

"Dragon," I couldn't hear Draco scream, but from Harry's widened eyes I knew that's what must have happened. Looking up, I could see the Devil's Snare shifting to wrap tighter around him.

I turned to Harry. "I can't hear them, you need to tell me what they're saying."

Harry shrugged, nonchalantly. "Apparently, there's a dragon named Norbert up there. Draco thinks you might have something to do with it. Both of them are very concerned, Ron less so because it's a baby dragon." He cocked his head as if listening for something, then amended, "though Ron is still concerned, as I said."

I called up, "Draco, Ron, you need to relax."

Harry waited for a moment, listening, then reported, "it's breathing fire now." He nodded as the vines above them shifted and curled. "They're screaming." One eyebrow raised. "Now Draco is taunting the dragon?"

"What?" I asked, suddenly, not quite sure I read his lips correctly.

"He's taunting the dragon, definitely," Harry confirmed, face as puzzled as I felt. "Wait, it seems to be-" before he could finish his sentence, Draco, Ron, and Norbert, all fell through a suddenly formed massive hole in the center of the Devil's Snare.

When Draco looked in my eyes with a triumphant grin, I understood. "Devil's Snare shrinks in the light. So, of course, when the dragon started breathing fire, you taunted it to bring it closer."

Draco nodded. "More light meant less Snare, so I got it to breathe fire near us. It cleared the Snare away and we just fell through."

I shook my head, seeing Harry retrieve Norbert from the corner of my vision. "But I thought you were terrified of dragons."

He scratched his cheek. "Looks like I'm tougher than I tho-" without another word, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed.

Ron ran over to check on him as Harry returned with Norbert curled in his arms. "It's alright," Ron said with a sigh of relief. "He's only fainted."

"I'm so sorry, to both of you. I thought bringing Norbert along might help, but now Draco's unconscious and…" I stared down at my feet, feeling the hollowness that grew with Bailey's snipes threaten to overwhelm me. "I've ruined everything."

A hand fell on my shoulder and I looked up into Harry's unnervingly unreadable eyes. "Yeah," he said with an even expression, "you screwed up bad." I felt my eyes brim with unshed tears, but he continued. "But in case you forgot, we're still on Voldemort's tail trying to rescue someone. Apologies and pity parties can wait till later. For now? Help me grab his legs so we can take him to the next room."

As pep talks went, it wasn't the greatest, but he wasn't wrong. With a great effort, I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked back the tears, bringing my wand to bear with a swish and a flick, slowly levitating Draco's sleeping body with us into the next room.

Keys, dozens of them, flew in the air powered by some enchantment I couldn't even begin to imagine how to cast. This had to be Flitwick's defense.

"Door's locked," Ron reported, shaking the door as if to make sure.

"Then one of those keys must fit the lock," I said, looking up at the quickly moving objects.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Wouldn't it be smarter to have the key hidden somewhere else and all these are just a distraction? Like a shell game?"

I nodded. "For someone like Professor Snape, yes, but this has to be Professor Flitwick's work, and he's more likely to grade based on how much you pay attention."

"Hey, look at this," Ron called out and we both walked over to see an old broom propped between two walls. "They want us to fly for it." He started to move the broom, but the shift caused every key to suddenly turn to face him. He released the broom, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, maybe you should take it, mate, you're the best flyer out of all of us."

I snapped my fingers, an idea occurring. "Hang on, if Harry can distract them, I can use this." I reached into my bag and withdrew a carefully wrapped Judy, uncovering it to Ron and Harry's approval. "It's possible they'll go after anyone in the air, but if you go up first, maybe you can get them to chase you while I grab the key." An old brass key with a mangled wing passed by overhead. "And I think that's the key we need."

"Worth a shot," without any preamble, Harry wrenched the broom free and kicked into the air as the keys swarmed him.

I straddled the broom and bent down to whisper to it. "Okay, Judy, we're going to have to go fast if we want to grab the key before the others notice. It's going to be scary, but I know you won't let me fall, right?" The broom didn't respond, but that was okay. I kicked off the ground and joined Harry in the sky.

Harry spun in circles and loop de loops, leading the keys to chase him as he carried on what seemed to be a casual introduction to the broom he was riding.

I cast my eyes about for the key I'd seen moments before, but in the flurry of keys it was impossible to spot. After watching for a minute, the reason became apparent. Nestled in the middle of the swarming keys, like a queen bee, the key with a mangled wing shakily hovered.

"Harry," I yelled, hoping my volume was enough to overcome what I could only assume was a cacophony of flapping wings. "You need to draw them away from the key."

Without warning, Harry flipped a hundred and eighty degrees and sped back toward the cluster, slamming into the mess of keys with a speed and force that nearly knocked him off his broom. The mangled key was revealed, but I had no idea for how long, and there was no way for Harry to draw more keys away without risking losing sight of the mangled key.

"Alright, Judy, this might get rough." I sped forward, hand outstretched and as soon as I felt my fist close around the key I squeezed my eyes shut as the metal keys pounded against me.

Before I knew it, the pounding stopped as my broom flew past the keys. When I opened my eyes, a look back showed them in fast pursuit, seemingly ignoring Harry. Tightening my remaining hand's grip on the broom, I turned to shoot towards Harry, ducking to the side even as I passed the key to him.

With a skilled flyer in possession, Harry got enough of a lead the door opened and we all got through, Ron dragging Draco in right before slamming it shut.

Upon seeing the horrifying scene in front of us, smashed and mangled statues prearranged into a morbid pattern, Ron clapped his hands together. "Ah, brilliant, chess." After looking at the board for a bit, a smile bloomed on his face. "Got it. Harry, get up on this horse."

The whole thing took less than two minutes.

The next room was similarly easy as it seemed the troll was as scared of Norbert as Draco was, something I found out later was related to mountain trolls actually being the Norwegian Ridgeback's natural prey.

Which left Snape's room, containing a riddle, a shelf of potions, and a ring of fire.

"Easy," Harry said. "I can walk through it no problem, rescue Neville, and figure out some way to get back. We don't even need to do this one."

"You don't need to do this one," I corrected. "But if we want to pass through we're gonna need to figure this out."

"Odds are good Voldemort's right past this fire," Harry said, pointing. "He can't hurt me; of course I should be the one to face him."

Ron answered by flicking Harry's forehead. "Forget about something? Far as we know, You-Know-Who's the only one who can hurt you. We're not letting you go without backup, mate."

Harry groaned, frustratedly. "As soon as he sees you, you're going to be a target. Just let me go alone. I can take him."

I began to grin, the gears in my head turning quickly as a plan formed. "Then we can't let him see us."

Ron and Harry looked at me, quizzically, before sharply turning their heads to the side, and I looked to see Draco, standing with a purple potion clutched in his hand. "My godfather's riddle leaves something to be desired," he said with a smirk. "I just had to deal with a bunch of boggarts pretending to be dragons, and a real dragon almost breathing fire on my face. If you've got a plan to keep us from getting blasted into itty bitty chunks by a dark lord, it'd better be good."

"Oh, it's better than good." I turned to Harry. "Looks like you'll be stepping through alone, after all." I pulled out my stopwatch and handed it to him. "All you need to do is buy us fifteen seconds."

Harry gave a lopsided grin. "Please. You don't think I can annoy him for thirty?"

I waved him off and he walked through the fire, to confront Voldemort. "Draco. You'll be the one to grab Neville, and Ron?"

His head perked up. "Yes?"

Barely, I managed to resist the urge to rub my hands together like I'd seen supervillains do in cartoons. "I'm gonna need you to cast a spell."


	23. Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter until the end. This has been a wild time and I'm so glad I got to share it with everyone. After a brief hiatus so I can build up some chapters, I hope you'll join me for year two in the sequel story: Jumping the Tracks.

I used to be respected, you know? I used to be an auror. The families in my community would wave to me on the street, and I'd give any kind of shifty fellow the bum rush straight out of town if he so much as gave a side eye to one of those housewives working in the garden or sweeping the front porch, waiting for their husbands to get home from work. I'd check in on the kids and make sure they were playing safe, and make faces at babies until they stopped crying. I was a pillar of the community, for Merlin's sake.

But then the economy took a dip, my department got downsized and I had to start picking up work at the main auror's office in London. Nobody waved, kids ran away from me, sure I was there to enforce some Trace violation or some such thing. I saw things on that job I never thought were even possible. Parents killing their children, children killing their best friends, shopkeepers with hidden basements of the most disgusting and vile things under the sun, I saw it all.

I didn't even have a problem with muggleborns, but when Voldemort came along promising something different, I just… I don't know. I guess I thought that somehow I could make the city a little more like the little town where I grew up: smiling faces and streets safe of all but the most minor of offences, and he promised it all.

But we lost the war, and even when the economy tipped up again, I couldn't go back to that small town I called my home. After what I'd seen, after what I'd done, I couldn't show my face.

And now I'm back at Hogwarts. I spent a year trying to kill one of those same children I'd sworn to protect, and then I kidnapped one and waded through a series of ridiculous challenges before being defeated by a mirror.

My name is Quirinus Quirrell, and I have the Dark Lord Voldemort stuck to the back of my head.

"Do you have any idea how troublesome it is to kill you?" Voldemort asked as Harry succeeded in putting out the flames on his clothes.

Harry pointed at his scar with a cocky grin. "Couldn't manage it before, what made you think you could do it now?"

"I jinx your broom, send tripping charms to make you fall down the stairs, poison your bloody pumpkin juice, I use the killing curse itself against you and yet you still don't die." Voldemort sneered. "Fine, then." I grabbed the Longbottom boy and pressed my wand against his neck. "Give me the Stone, or he dies."

Harry looked down at what appeared to be a muggle stopwatch, before looking back at me. "Okay," he said, agreeably. "Where's the Stone?" He pointed at the mirror. "In here?" He stared at it for a few seconds. "What's this Stone supposed to do, anyhow?"

"Don't waste my time, child," Voldemort growled.

Harry shrugged. "Fine, geeze." He went back to looking in the mirror.

"What do you see?" I couldn't help but ask.

"No stutter, huh?" He countered rhetorically. "I see…" he trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing. "Huh."

"He has the Stone," Voldemort rasped. "Give it here."

Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew the brilliant ruby red stone, looking down at it with a pensive expression. After a moment, he shifted to check his stopwatch again. "Wow, fifteen seconds is longer than I thought," he noted.

Out of nowhere, Ron Weasley erupted from an invisibility cloak, wand raised. "Lumos Maxima."

I raised a shield on reflex before I could even parse the words. My grip on Longbottom loosened ever so slightly and he was wrenched away from me in the same moment.

Why would he attack with a simple light spell?

The searing light covered my body faster and more effectively than any flame, and I felt my eyes sizzle like I stood in the sun.

I stumbled backwards, clutching my burning eyes as Voldemort screamed for me to move. "They're getting away, you fool. Get me that Stone."

With a wave of my wand, the exit became covered with flame, blocking their escape.

I began firing curses at random, one hand still covering my face as Voldemort shouted directions and insults in my ear. I strained my ears to try and hear them over his vitriol, but I could only catch snippets.

"...conjured fire…"

"...out the summoner…"

"...brilliant…"

"...it here, Potter…"

"...on Judy…"

"...me luck…"

"Now."

I fired a curse toward where I thought the sound originated and grimaced when I heard the sound of it striking flesh. Bone breaking hexes were nasty things, and using them against children made me feel unclean. But instead of the cries of pain I expected to hear, the footsteps continued as Voldemort yelled, "dodge, you fool."

I took a step to the side, wary of any curse sent my way, but stumbled as something impacted my leg. One of the children had somehow gotten close enough to grab me. I was about to send a point blank cutting curse, when the leg where I was grabbed erupted in pain.

I kicked him off with as much force as I could manage, reaching down to inspect the damage. I winced as I felt my skin flake apart and fall even as I touched it. What in Merlin's name did they hit me with?

"How did you set his leg on fire?" One of the voices asked, and I cursed in his direction, hearing a sickening crunch as the bone breaking hex connected.

"Draco," a voice cried out from above.

Wait, from above?

Without warning, I felt the tip of a broom smash into the top of my head, shooting me to the floor. "You useless wretch," Voldemort shouted. "If you cannot deal with a group of children, I will do it myself."

With a wrenching feeling, like having the floor you're standing on suddenly give way, Voldemort began puppeting my body as a marionette, bending my arms and legs backwards to suit his needs. I felt my hand grip my wand with an alien force as his voice came out of the back of my head.

"Accio broom," he incantated, and I heard a scream as the broom's rider fell to the ground. "Incarcerous." I heard a thump as the boy who cast the lumos was interrupted in his attempt to cast a second. He tutted, softly, shaking my head. "It's a shame you've cast your lot in with them, little Malfoy brat." He considered for a moment, then shot a second bone breaking curse, shattering some other portion of his body my first curse missed. He stepped forward, and I heard the last child shuffle back. "I don't know what game you are playing, Harry Potter, but it seems you are all out of moves." He leveled my wand at the infamous Boy-Who-Lived. "Give me the Stone."

"I don't have it," he answered, evenly.

"Who does?" Voldemort ground out, pressing the wand against his neck.

Harry opened his mouth but stayed silent, closing it a moment later, refusing to answer.

"Perhaps you are special, somehow, and for whatever reason, I cannot kill you, but if you think that makes me powerless, you are grossly mistaken." He gave a sadistic grin, and I could feel the muscles and skin on the back of my head stretch to form it. "Crucio."

I couldn't see his face, but I didn't need to: the sound was enough. Kids this age hadn't really had the chance to encounter pain like that before. It fried their little heads before they had the chance to fully mature. Fully grown adults struggled to adapt after being tortured by the Dark Lord, but a child? He'd be lucky if he could ever speak again.

He could have avoided it if he just went along. Following Voldemort was easy, like a game. All you had to do was make it to the end and he'd give you anything you asked for. Harry Potter seemed like a tough kid, he'd probably have been able to make it all the way, and now? He'd be a vegetable in Saint Mungos.

A shove, sharp, and filled with an emotion I couldn't grasp, sent me over. With the way Voldemort had my limbs, I couldn't even attempt to regain my footing. But, how? Voldemort had dealt with all the childre-ah, of course.

In all the confusion, it seemed we'd both forgotten the Longbottom boy.

I tumbled backwards, into the arms of Harry Potter, and I felt my body sizzling and turning to ash everywhere he touched.

Voldemort screamed, but I couldn't help myself becoming detached from the whole thing. That little town I told myself I was fighting for all this time was so long ago. As I burned, I tried to remember a name, or a face, but nothing came to mind.

If I wasn't fighting for that, what was I fighting for?

Maybe it was better this way.

I closed my blind eyes, feeling Voldemort's soul leave my body, and I thought of every image I could scrounge up of that town. As I crumbled away, I left behind a flickering pale patronus, gifted with a message.

It wasn't enough, but I had to do something before… before I… well, before.

To my little town, to all the people I've fought in Voldemort's name. To Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and to Harry Potter.

"I'm sorry."

The patronus and I faded quietly into the night.


	24. The Watcher

The Hogwarts Express sped down the tracks, unaware it was missing a few students, to one passenger's chagrin.

"He's done something crazy, I know it," Cho Chang said, her eyes glued to the compartment door like the wayward Sparrowkeet member would walk in any moment. "That's why he isn't here."

"Relax." Marcus Flint had his head tipped up to look at the ceiling, only casting the occasional glance to the door. "He's a first year. What kind of trouble do you think he got into?"

"There's the acromantula," Cedric Diggory said, considering, but at Oliver Wood's expression, he hastily waved his hands. "Not that I think anything happened. He probably just got dragon pox and Madame Pomfrey asked him to stay."

Cho hummed, unconvinced. "Did anyone see Malfoy, Granger, or Potter board?"

Oliver shrugged. "I don't know."

"I wasn't asking you; I know you don't know," she said, helplessly, turning to Cedric with a questioning look.

He shrugged. "Haven't learned all the first year names yet. I know Hermione Granger didn't board, though."

"Potter, Malfoy, and Longbottom didn't board," Marcus said, dully. "Can't see what all of them got wrapped up in together."

"Maybe it's a really big dragon pox outbreak," Cedric suggested.

Cho shook her head, looking back at the door. "He did something crazy," she said with damning certainty. "I'm gonna send him an owl when I get back to my house."

The other members of the Sparrowkeet Lounge didn't answer, but none of them could keep themselves from looking at the door for the remainder of the train ride.

::""::

Reluctantly, Madame Pomfrey released her charges. Most of them just had cuts and bruises, but Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had the worst of it. On Malfoy, two broken arms, and with a particularly nasty bit of cursework, too. They weren't clean breaks, and simply gathering up all the shards of bones and stitching them back with magic took several days. On Potter, something she never wanted to see on a child again, after the war: cruciatus exposure. Not for very long, thank Morgana, but it clearly had an effect on the boy.

He seemed unsure, now, like he was just taking his first steps in the world. Though, she supposed when it came to the magical world, he was.

The discharged patients departed the medical wing and a silence loomed as they walked through the halls before Draco finally broke it. "I'd prefer it if none of you mentioned my going against You-Know Who. My dad would kill me if he found out."

"Same with my gran," Neville echoed, "but for different reasons."

Harry snorted, the first sound he'd made since Quirrel's death, then he chuckled, then he laughed. Soon all of them were laughing, and like a stuffy blanket being lifted, the atmosphere changed.

"I'm sorry about your arms, Draco," Hermione said, tearing up. "It was my plan and it got you hurt, and Harry," she turned to him, suddenly, "you got tortured, I can't believe-"

He held up a hand, and she went silent. "My plan was to go in alone, Hermione," he said with a tired smile, "personally, I think yours went a lot better than mine would've."

"It all worked out," Draco chimed in. "I'll be healed up by the end of the week, and a few broken bones is a small price to pay for what I got in return." He flashed her a big grin, then turned to the others. "I couldn't have done it without every one of you. The house of Malfoy owes you a debt."

Hermione jumped to hug him, and Neville and Ron sported identical grins. Harry leaned back against a nearby wall, still feeling a bit weak despite being confined to a hospital bed for nearly a week.

As the others went ahead, Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder, keeping him back. "Need something?" Draco asked.

"When Dumbledore came to the hospital wing, you said the Stone was destroyed…" he said, leadingly.

"Yes?" Draco asked, and at Harry's silence he gave a bemused smile. "Are you asking if I lied to Dumbledore?"

"Did you?" Harry countered, point blank.

Draco paused for a moment. "Hermione told me you feel things, sometimes, like you think the brooms are alive. What did you feel when you held the Stone?"

Harry hesitated and Draco turned to go. "When you look in the mirror, whatever it is you see? That's what I felt."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco apologized, still facing away. "I asked you to give me the Stone before you attacked Quirrel, and one of his curses shattered it. That's it."

"You're sure?" Harry asked, one eyebrow raised.

Draco looked over his shoulder with an easy smile. "Trust me."

::""::

Luna Lovegood stared out her house's kitchen window, watching the dirigible plums gently sway in the breeze. It wasn't an uncommon sight in the Lovehood household, but lately the activity had become tinged with melancholy.

"Ron comes back today, right?" Pandora Lovegood asked, wiping her wand with a cleaning cloth.

Luna sighed, slumping her head until her right side was halfway buried in her arms. "Yes…" she admitted, finally.

Pandora raised an eyebrow, setting the cloth down. "What's the matter? Don't you want to see him?"

"Of course I do," Luna said with an exaggerated eye roll. "But he's just been at Hogwarts, like, all year. What if he's different? And he probably got all kinds of friends. What if he doesn't need me anymore?"

Pandora used a hand to cover the surprised chuckle her daughter's innocent fears had drawn. "Oh, pumpkin." She wrapped her arms around her now teary-eyed child, cooing, gently. "Now, listen to me, alright? Ron's only been away at Hogwarts for a few months, and I bet he spent that whole time missing you just as much as you missed him."

She sniffed, wiping her arm with her sleeve. "Really?"

Pandora rubbed her shoulder, comfortingly, looking up at a clock on the wall, upside down, but functional. "Here, why don't we go see him? The Hogwarts Express should be getting in soon, I'm sure he'd love to see you just as soon as he gets off, right?" Luna's cheer was all the answer she needed. "Alright, you get ready, I'm just going to run a few more tests on my little project and then we'll head out, okay?"

The Lovegoods went their separate ways.

::""::

Cho greeted the nappy brown owl as it flew through her living room window, taking its letter and directing it to a dish of water and owl treats kept on the windowsill.

The door slammed as she read through the letter, greeting her father as he entered. When he was sure she was watching, he mimed checking his watch. "Back from school already? Could've sworn I dropped you off just a day ago."

"Glad to see you missed me," she fired back, sarcastically.

"How could I miss you?" He pretended to draw his wand like one of those old muggle westerns he liked. "You're way too close."

They both laughed as Cho went back to her letter and her father went to take off his coat. "Where's mum?" She called back as she began preparing paper for her reply.

Her father poked his head around the doorframe, eyebrows furrowed. "Didn't she pick you up?"

"Nah, I got a ride back with some friends. She wasn't with you?" She began penning her response as her father reentered.

He shrugged, affably. "Probably at the publisher's again," he decided, changing the subject. "How was school? Anything interesting happen?"

Cho gestured to the opened letter. "Apparently our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor died on the last day."

He considered for a moment. "That was Quirinus, right? Well, he was always a bit sickly."

Cho nodded. "Yeah, that and apparently he had You-Know-Who sticking out the back of his head."

Her father's eyes widened, "what?" She handed him the letter from Ron and he began scanning through it. "Let me tell you, that school sure has taken some strange turns since I was there," he said, handing her back the letter. "Hope your next teacher's a little more on the trustworthy side."

"What about you?" She suggested. "Don't tell me you don't have the resume for it; if anything, you're overqualified."

"But my work…" he hedged.

"Oh, come on, dad," she wheedled. "It'll give me a chance to see you more, and trust me, all the students are looking for a competent Defense teacher after the last few. Just one year, and if you don't like it, resign."

He shook his head, opening his mouth to refuse, when his eye caught on the coat of arms above the fireplace. 'Faber est quisque fortunae suae,' it read. "I suppose," he finally relented with a sigh, "one year won't hurt."

Cho pumped her arms in the sky in celebration, pushing her father to her mother's writing desk so he could ask Dumbledore for the position as soon as possible. He picked up a quill, wetted it with ink and began to write.

"Dear Headmaster Dumbledore, my name is Gilderoy Lockhart…"

::""::

Lucius Malfoy greeted his son at the platform, the teacher's train instead of the normal Express, noting the double casts he was sporting but only asking after them once they were inside.

"One of the older students," Draco explained, flashing a wide grin. "Don't worry, though. I taught him the proper respect to show a Malfoy."

Lucius nodded, patting him on the back. "A thousand wounds are worth it to preserve your honor, and broken bones only heal back stronger."

Draco's eyes widened. "They do?"

"Of course. I took Beginner and Intermediate Healing in my fifth and sixth years, you know," the Malfoy head half-boasted. "I wasn't going to leave Severus to fend for himself." His expression grew distant as he smiled at nothing. "Besides, there was a witch I was trying to impress."

Lucius sidealong apparated his son to Malfoy Manor, walking inside. "Tell the elf to unpack your bags," he said, gesturing to the door, "and your mother is lying in wait for you to tell her everything about your year, so try not to injure yourself further in an escape attempt." He gave Draco a wink. "I'm nearly finished with work, just one or two things to take care of, and then how do you feel about a trip to Florean Fortescues?"

Draco wiggled the fingers poking out of his cast. "I think I can manage that," he agreed.

Lucius sent him toward his mother and retired to his private study, eyeing a small leatherbound journal sitting unobtrusively upon it. "Beware of Greeks bearing gifts," he murmured to himself.

After regaling his mother with a few tales of his exploits, carefully edited to remove any association with mudbloods, half breeds, or blood traitors, Draco made it up to his room and shut the door. "Elf."

I appeared. "Young Master Draco calls for Dobby?"

"Bring my bags up and unpack them in here," he ordered, and in a flash of magic the task was accomplished.

"Will that be all, Master Draco?" I asked, rubbing my hands together.

He reached into his pocket, feeling something inside. "I need you to get me more books. On Alchemy, this time."

With a new task, I resigned myself to the delay of my wizard watching. Oh, if only I were free I might be able to help them, or at the very least I could watch them longer. But I am only an elf.

Watching is all I can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


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